Second Chances
by Aqono
Summary: AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied abuse, homosexuality.

**Second Chances**

**A Static Shock Fanfiction**

_No! Francis, please, let me go! I don't want—_

Richie stops mid step.

These kinds of flashbacks happen all the time and Richie's knows exactly what he needs to do to make them go away.

There's a nearby bench that Richie makes his way to. He sits down and tightens his old and ratty red coat around his slender frame. The howl of the evening, spring wind is blowing against his face, sending chills down his spine, but he ignores it and wraps his coat tighter. He needs to focus on suppressing these flashbacks.

In Richie's pocket is a rubber band. He found it on the sidewalk a couple weeks earlier and picked it up. Originally, he was going to use it for his money, but sense he rarely had any, he found putting it on his wrist to flick every time he had a flashback was more productive.

_Francis, please, I don't want—_

Flick.

Richie winces—he accidentally hit one of the many burn scars on his arm.

_Ow! Francis, please, that hurts! Please, Francis, let me—_

Flick. Flick.

The flashbacks finally stop.

Richie sighs and leaves the rubber band on his wrist. Sinking down, he closes his eyes and wraps his arms tightly around his around his chest. He enjoys a few moments of bliss, momentarily left not plagued by the mountain of problems he's currently dealing with.

Then he hears sirens blare, and he jumps up. For a moment he tries to figure out where the sirens are coming from, but the he realizes he needs to change into his uniform. He curses under his breath and spins around, running in the direction of the abandoned gas station. He's not too far away, but he has a marginal amount of time to get there before Static does.

Thankfully he manages to get there, and change into his costume, mere seconds before Static shows up.

"It's Hotstreak," Static informs as they take off into the sky. "Guess he doesn't realize he can turn coal into diamonds himself."

"Well, technically," Gear says, "he would also need tens of thousands of pounds along with that fire if he wants to make diamonds." He grins when Static rolls his eyes at him. "So he's robbing the jewelry store?"

"What was your first clue, Einstein?" Static grins when Richie sticks his tongue out at him.

Within a few minutes, Static and Gear are in front of the jewelry store. Static is the first one in, throwing out quips and lightning bolts from the get-go. Gear lingers at the door, preparing mentally to confront Hotstreak.

Of course Richie is in costume, and sure there is a zero percent chance Francis knows who he is, but it's the fact he's in the presence of his ex-boyfriend that always puts Richie on edge. Even as a masked superhero fighting a villain, he hates confrontations with Francis.

Gear shakes his head and takes a step inside the jewelry store, only to discover the battle was over before it ever really stared. Hotstreak is pinned to the wall upside down, and there is a distant sound of blaring police cars quickly approaching the crime scene. The sight makes Gear grin because, in a way, it's like sweet, sweet vengeance.

Static walks up behind Gear and taps him on the shoulder. It startles Gear and he spins around, instantly face-to-face with Static.

"So," Static says, rocking back and forth on his heels, his arms crossed over his chest, "did you enjoy the show?"

Gear bites his lip and looks down at his feet. "Sorry," he mutters.

For a moment Static stares at Gear. Eventually he sighs and drops his arms and stops rocking. "It's cool, man," he says. "Hotstreak is easy." He puts his arm around Gear's shoulder and they walk out of the building just as the police show up. "If you had ditched me on, say, Ebon or someone, then I'd have been really ticked."

Gear smiles and inadvertently leans into Static's side.

Static is the only physical contact with another human Richie ever gets, so whenever Static touches him, Richie soaks in as much of it as he possibly can.

Static removes his arm from Gear's shoulder. "C'mon," he says, and jumps on his disc. "I'll race ya back."

Gear laughs and accepts the challenge.

**-ss-**

"I'll see you tomorrow, Gear," Static says and waves over his shoulder. "Have a good night."

"Thanks," Gear calls after him. "You, too."

When the coast is clear—because the last thing Richie wants is for Static to know his partner is homeless; it might hinder his credibility as a hero—Gear sighs and takes off his helmet. He sets it down on his workbench along with Backpack. After he makes sure his robot is resting comfortably, he makes his way into the backroom of the gas station where he changes back into his street clothes.

After Richie shrugs his jacket over his shoulders, he makes his way out of the backroom to a little room tucked away behind a wall and sits down in front of the telephone. He glances at his watch and sees its 4:15—just enough time to make a call. This is his third time making this call, and he swears if he has to make it again, he might scream.

Getting food stamps should not be so hard.

Richie puts the phone to his ear and listens to it ring. He sighs when he hears an automated voice and begins pressing buttons before the voice is even done talking. It doesn't take long to memorize the numbers to dial that gets to an operator.

"Finally," Richie says under his breath when someone answers.

Richie listens to the overly perky woman spiel off her introduction and he rolls his eyes—he's not in the mood for perky; he just wants to eat. When she finally quits talking, he answers her generic question with a generic answer. "I'm fine, thanks." He sighs and dives into the reason he's calling. "My name is Richard Foley. I'm nineteen years old, and I'm calling because I—"

There's a crash in the other room.

With a loud sigh, Richie glances at his watch, which reads 4:35, and sighs again—he only has twenty-five minutes to complete this call. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" Richie asks politely. "I have to check on something in the other room."

Richie clears his throat and sets down the phone. He makes his way into the main room of the gas station and looks around, putting his hands on his hips. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for Backpack being on the ground. He rolls his eyes and makes his way to his robot and bends down to pick him up. He puts him back on the workbench and makes sure he's, for the most part, unharmed.

"Backpack," Richie says, and the robot immediately responds to his voice, the eye in the middle extending to look at Richie, "I barely have the money to eat, let alone fix you again, so please stop falling." Backpack's lens recedes back into his body. Richie sighs and pats him. "I'm not mad at you," he says and turns away, making his way back to the phone. "I'm just frustrated because—"

Richie's chin hits his chest. He drops the phone on the ground and sighs loudly. "Great," he mutters brokenly and walks away from the phone, not caring that it isn't hung up. He shuffles into the next room, barely able to keep himself on his feet. "Guess I'll need to call them a fourth time," he says in the same broken tone.

He's too tired to scream.

"Goodnight, Backpack," Richie says and turns off the light. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't fall again." As soon as he opens the door, he wraps his coat tightly around his body, the chilly spring wind from earlier having turned into painful and cold rain and gust.

He doesn't care, though.

With flashbacks and another failed attempt at getting food stamps, it's not like his day could possibly get any worse.

**-ss-**

_His name is Richard._

_I can't believe I know his name. It's such a wonderful name. I wonder if he goes by a nickname, though; he doesn't look like he likes that name. He probably goes by a nickname; I wonder what it is. I feel sort of bad for knowing his name, but it's not like I meant to forget my wallet. I need my school ID if I want to get into my lab tomorrow, so of course I had to go back for it. I suppose I should have knocked first, to see if he was in there... oh, man, I can't believe I know his name!_

Virgil turns over in bed so he can stare at the ceiling instead of the wall. It's 2:30 and he's been trying for an hour to go to sleep. He can't, because he's preoccupied with the fact he knows his partner's name. Nothing could be better than knowing Gear's real name.

Richard Foley.

The goofiest grin is plastered on Virgil's face and, for the life of him; he can't get it to go away. Not that he wants it gone, because, really, he knows Gear's real name, and there's nothing more exciting than that. He's more excited than he was when he met Romeo or Shaq, and he was awful excited in both of those instances.

_Oh, man. I can't let him know I know this about him. He'll probably be pissed if he finds out I know his name. I guess this can be my secret._

Virgil grins.

He feels like a silly fan gushing over a celebrity, what with the way he's freaking out over something as silly as a name, but he can't help it.

He's got a crush.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied abuse, homosexuality.

"Virgil Ovid Hawkins, if you don't get ashy fucking behind down here this instant you are going to be late!"

It takes Virgil a few minutes to fully register what his sister is yelling at him, but when he does, his eyes fly open and he looks at his alarm clock. "Fuck," he hisses and flings the blankets off his body, practically flying out of bed. He grabs clothes from the floor, not particularly caring what they look like, and gets dressed as he runs down the steps—a feat even he is surprised he can accomplish. He's putting his shirt over his head as he enters the kitchen.

Robert is at the table with coffee, reading the newspaper; Sharon is at the stove cooking breakfast; and Virgil is running late for his 8:25 class. It's a typical morning in the Hawkins household.

"It's really no wonder you're failing physics, Virgil," Sharon says as she scraps the bottom of a skillet with a spatula. "This is, what, the fifth time this week you've nearly slept through one of your classes?"

Virgil glares at Sharon and snatches his books and a piece of toast from the table. "It's only Monday. How can I sleep through classes five times in a week if it's only Monday." He takes a bite of the toast and talks with his mouth full. "And I _am not _failing physics. I just… I'm not getting an A."

"Maybe you would be if you got up on time."

Virgil growls and Sharon turns to the table to fill the plate in front of Robert with scrambled eggs. It's the one food Sharon has finally figured out how to make properly. She puts the skillet back on the stove and sits down at the table.

Robert puts down his newspaper. "Thank you, honey," he says and scoots close to the table. "Virgil, your sister is right. You need to start getting up on time. I'm not paying for college for you to sleep through your classes."

Sharon smirks and Virgil glares at her. He then sighs and nods and collects his books from the middle of the table. "Yes sir," he says as he stands up. He tucks his books under his arm and makes his way to the door. He's already late enough without being told how wrong he is by everyone in his house.

"Have a good day, son," Robert says. "We'll see you tonight."

"Oh, and who is Richard?" Sharon asks and Virgil stops in his tracks. She laughs at the reaction. "You were muttering something about him in your sleep. Is he your new boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend, Sharon. I haven't for over a year."

"Well then someone has a little crush. Who is he, how do you know him?"

"Shut up, Sharon," Virgil warns. "He's no one. I… I don't know why I was saying something about a Richard," he lies. He can't chance anyone finding out Gear's real name. "I don't even know a Richard."

"I somehow really doubt that."

Virgil growls.

"Stop tormenting your brother, Sharon." Robert says between bites. "If he says he doesn't know a Richard, he doesn't know a Richard."

Sharon sighs and leans back in her chair. "Yes, Daddy," she says, but sticks her tongue out at Virgil who sticks out his back at her.

Virgil leaves just in time to not hear Sharon start talking about baby names. As excited as he is for his sister and Adam, and to be an uncle, the last thing he wants to listen to is talk about pregnancy. Because when she starts talking about pregnancy, he starts thinking about how she got pregnant, and it grosses him out.

He's glad to be leaving.

Even if he knows he won't be able to pay attention in class.

He's too infatuated with the boy who knows more about it than he does.

**-ss-**

Today is warmer, which means Richie doesn't need his coat. Instead of wearing, he carries it over his shoulder as he walks up and down the same stretch of sidewalk. He's hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll get lucky and find some money. Any amount of money will do. He just really needs to eat.

He went to sleep the previous night with nothing.

Sighing, he stops and looks up. It's no use; he's not going to find money. Biting his lip, he spots a nearby alley and makes his way to it. He glances around, making sure there's no sign of danger, and makes his way down it until he can't walk anymore. He leans against the wall and slides down. He's too tired to walk anymore, to hungry to walk anymore.

With another sigh, he leans his head against the wall and looks up at the sky. It's blue and clear without a cloud in sight. He cusses the day, feeling as though it were making fun of his situation. There's so much life around him, and he can't even find food to sustain his.

It's like one huge joke.

He closes his eyes as he listens to the clock tower chime. It's already 5:00 and he sighs because he has to get up again and make it across town to get to the gas station. He's supposed to be patrolling with Static in forty-five minutes, and he needs to get to their HQ to change before Static shows up.

He really wishes he had someplace else to store his uniform.

It takes five minutes of cussing the day before he actually decides to get up, and another fifteen minutes of walking to make it to the gas station. Once again, he changes just in the nick of time to come out of the back room to see Static.

"You ready for patrol?" Gear asks.

At the sound of Gear's voice, Static spins around. As soon as he sees his partner, he grins. He has to admit, he's kind of always had somewhat of a crush on Gear, but knowing his real name is the icing on the cake, and his feelings have all but quadrupled since finding out his name. He knows Gear, if only a little, on a more personal level, and that is enough for him.

"Yes," Static says, trying his to keep the excitement in his tone at bay. "It looks like tonight will be easy. I didn't see any major disturbances on my way over here. Maybe we'll get to go home early tonight."

Yeah. Yeah, home. That's exactly what Richie wants—to go home. He sighs, knowing Static didn't mean anything by it.

"How about you?" Static asks, breaking Gear of his thoughts. "Did you see anything?"

Gear shook his head. "No… I, um… I've been here most of the day."

Static laughs airily and elbows Gear. They make their way outside as they continue to talk. "What about school? You're in college, aren't you?"

"Um… No," Gear says. "I… my parents…" He trails off. He can't think of a good lie, so he just sticks with his original answer. "No. No, I'm not in college." He glances at Static who seems genuinely surprised, so he follows it up with: "I'm a genius, remember? What do I need college for?"

Static seems satisfied with the answer and nods while shrugging his left shoulder. "Good point, I suppose." He laughs. "You're lucky—college royally sucks. I was late a little for my first class this morning. The professor almost wouldn't let me take my test."

It was like Richie got to live the life he really wanted through Static. He smiles and laughs as he listens to Static talk about how much his physics class sucks. Richie even did his best to explain to him, in a more laymen way, what it was they went over in their class. He smiles when he sees the look of understand flicker in Static's eyes.

Static makes living on the streets not so bad.

**-ss-**

Thankfully their patrol never did evolve to anything more than that. With Hotstreak and Ebon in jail, the streets are relatively calm, save for the occasional, average thief. The Meta-Breed did nothing without their leader, so Static and Gear didn't have to worry about them wreaking havoc on the city without Ebon around.

They return to their HQ and sit down on the couch. Several minutes pass with neither of them saying anything. Just as Gear is about to say something, he notices Static seems antsy, and it sparks his. He laughs as he asks about it.

"Oh! Oh, um…" Static trails off and laughs nervously. He scratches the back of his neck. "Um… n-nothing… I just… uh…" He trails off and laughs nervously again. "Uh… I just remembered need to… um… do the dishes for my sister. She'll be really, really mad if I don't."

Gear furrows his eyebrows under his mask but nevertheless smiles. He shrugs and nods understandingly. He may not have a sister—at least as far as he knows; he hasn't seen his parents in four years—but he understands family being pissed off for not getting something done.

Though Gear is positive Static's sister won't hit him for not getting it done.

"You should probably go, then," Gear says.

Static nods and stands up. He turns and leans over to give Gear a hug, his heart racing a mile a minute when they make contact, especially when Gear leans into him. For several moments they continue to hug before Static breaks it and steps back.

"I'll… I'll, uh…" Static clears his throat when his voice cracks. He blushes under his back and looks down. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Gear smiles and nods. "See you tomorrow, Static. Have a good night."

"You, too, Gear."

When Static leaves, Gear sighs and leans back against the couch. He looks down at his watch and sees that it's only 3:45. Maybe, perhaps, if Backpack doesn't fall this time, he can finally talk to someone about getting food stamps.

He's desperate. He's hungry.

**-ss-**

_There has to be a way I can get to know him. There has to be a way I can tell him who I am without him getting mad about me knowing who he is._

_I wonder if there's a way I can invite him to my birthday party next month…_

Now not only is Virgil excited about thinking of a way to finally get to know Richard, but now he's equally as excited about moving into his own apartment in the next two weeks. It's like a double whammy of excitement.

Thankfully he doesn't have classes on Tuesdays, because he knows for sure he's not getting any sleep tonight.

It's almost like he has a crush on a celebrity, because he knows about as much about Richard as he does about any celebrity, but it's also better, because he actually knows this person on a more personal level.

Virgil turns over and buries his face in his pillow and squeals.

He's never liked someone so much before.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied abuse, homosexuality.

On most days school trumps patrol, which Static has ended up canceling until Saturday afternoon, unless, of course, an emergency is to arise.

That means the only thing Richie has to worry about is getting something to eat which, thanks to the fact a local restaurant gives people who are homeless something free to eat on Fridays, he also doesn't have to worry about—at least not today.

With a bag full of food, Richie thanks and turns away from the cashier with his stamped store card, and makes his way out of the restaurant. He only makes it a couple yards when he runs into a man a few inches taller, but much more muscular, than him and stumbles back. He manages to catch his footing before he falls.

Richie looks up at the man, giving a faint smile as he starts to back away. "Sorry. I guess I wasn't—"

The man waves off the apology with a smile and a shake of his head. "Oh, don't even worry about it," he says and lifts up the book he had had his nose buried in. "I shouldn't be trying to read and walk," he says with a soft laugh.

Nervously, Richie runs his hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck. He forces a soft laugh and looks down at his shoes, suddenly fully aware of how ratty they are. He sighs and closes his eyes, biting his lip softly.

"Is there something wrong?" the man asks.

Richie shakes his head. After a moment, he looks back up and opens his eyes. "No, um… I just…" He looks down at the bag in his hand. "I just… I need to eat before this gets cold," he says and holds up the bag.

The man smiles and nods understandingly—Mexican had a tendency to not keep very long. For a brief second he puts his hand in his pocket—Richie is watching each of his moves like a hawk so he notices it quickly— and then extends his hand to Richie. "It was nice to meet you," he says.

Blinking, Richie looks between the man's hands and his eyes before he bites his bottom lip. He nods and accepts his hand, shaking it. "It, uh… it was nice to meet you, too."

The man takes his hand back. "See you around," he says, and disappears just like that.

Richie furrows his eyebrows and looks down at his hand. He goes wide eyed when he sees a folded up fifty and looks back up. He wants to object to the money, but he can't find the man who gave it to him anywhere. He looks back down at it, staring at it as if it's going to perform a magic trick and disappear.

Putting the bag of food down at his feet, he pulls the rubber band off his wrist and kneels. He puts the rubber band around his ankle and then the money between the rubber band and his ankle. For extra security, he pulls his sock up around it. He stands back up and retrieves his food.

He continues to the park so he can eat.

**-ss-**

Just as Richie finishes his meal, a series of sirens start to blare. Thankfully he's already at the abandoned gas station, which means he doesn't have to race to make it before Static does. Nevertheless, though, he still hurries to change, because he never does know when Static will arrive.

Getting up from his seat, he throws out his trash and hurries to the back room to change into his uniform. He takes the fifty out of his shoe and, instead, puts it in the breast pocket of his uniform. He can't risk losing it, and that means he can't risk leaving it with his things.

When he's changed, he puts on his helmet and heads back out into the main room. Like always, Static is there as soon as he is finished changing.

"What's going on?" Gear asks.

Static spins around on his heels, equally startled and surprised by his partner's voice. He smiles when he sees Gear. "It's uh…" Static trails off and shakes his head. He needs to focus on the issue at hand, not how incredibly… incredibly… He shakes his head again. "Um… it's Hotstreak. He's on rampage."

Richie feels his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. He tries his best to hide his displeasure as he speaks, clearing his throat beforehand. "But I thought we put him in jail on Sunday? How did he—?"

Static shrugs. "You'd think they'd make a fireproof cell for him or something."

Gear rolls his eyes. "You'd think."

"You can stay here, if you want," Static says. He shrugs slightly when a look of shock crosses Gear's features. "I mean, you don't ever seem to join me in the battle when it's Hotstreak, so it might be easier if you just stay here." He was doing his best to not offend Gear with his offer. "What do you think? Is that okay with you?"

Part of Richie wanted to dance—the absolute last thing he wanted to do was confront Francis. On the other hand, though, he knew, as a hero, he should overcome his nerves and do what a hero would do in time of crisis.

It was just incredibly hard for Richie to keep it together in front of Francis.

Gear nodded. "I… I suppose I can do that. Yeah…"

Static smiles and walks up to Gear, putting a comforting hand on him. A moment later, they're hugging. He's doing it now because Static doesn't plan to return to the gas station after this battle with Hotstreak—he has way too much homework to get done.

"I'll see you later, Ri—Gear," Static says, almost giving away what he knew. He clears his throat and tries to brush it off as an accidental hold of the last syllable. "I'll see you later, Gear. Have a good night."

Gear nods. "You, too, Static—have a good night."

When Static leaves, Richie sighs and sits down on the couch. He lolls his head forward and holds up his head with his right palm. How pathetic did he have to be that he couldn't even join Static in defeating Hotstreak, the easiest villain in the entire city?

The answer, he's positive, is that it's pretty fucking pathetic. There is nothing more pathetic than a superhero who can't confront a villain.

Richie groans and slouches down, putting his hands over his eyes.

Now he's having another flashback, and it's come with such force that he doesn't even have the energy or the desire to get up and get his rubber band. Instead, he lets it happen, despite the panic attack it nearly gives him.

Sometimes Richie wishes Francis, or his father for that matter, had killed him.

It has to be better than all this.

**-ss-**

_That could work. _

Virgil has been lost in thought for nearly an hour. The last thing he cares about is his homework, because he's too focused on how to invite Richard to his party. His party is quickly approaching, and the window of time Virgil has to invite him is closing even faster.

He probably needs to call off work or something else schedule related, so Virgil needs to give him adequate time to do what he needs to in order to come.

_Okay, yeah, that'll work._

Virgil puts down his pencil and gets up, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. In his pocket is an invitation he created the day he found out Richard's name, and he's been carrying around ever since.

He runs downstairs where he finds his dad and sister sitting in the living room.

"How was your day, Virgil?" Robert asks without turning to look at him.

Virgil inches towards the door as he responds. "It was good, Pops. I, uh… I got my physics test back this morning. I got a B on it."

"Good job, son. What about the other classes?"

"They're going fine," Virgil says and puts his hand on the doorknob. "I, um… I have A's and B's in them."

"I saw on the news Gear wasn't with you when you confronted Hotstreak today. Is he okay?"

Virgil stiffens at the mention of Gear. He grips the doorknob tightly. "Um… He, um… he doesn't really like confronting Hotstreak, so I told him he could stay back at our HQ." It wasn't necessarily a lie—Static assumed that was what it was. "Hotstreak is a breeze, Pops."

"I'm proud of you, Virgil," Robert says. "Where are you headed?"

"Um… out, with Shay. We're gonna give people invitations to my party next month."

"Have fun."

"Thanks," Virgil says and lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

With a sigh, he turns on his heels and quickly leaves. He lets out another relieved breath when he's standing on the porch. "Whew, man; it's like a police interrogation with him." He shrugs his coat over his shoulders just a little and hurries down the sidewalk.

**-ss-**

With the fifty dollars he was given, Richie is able to buy enough food for two weeks. He has a cart full of mostly things that can be microwaved that he's pushing back to the gas station. He's aware people in their cars are staring at him, but he can't really be bothered to be bothered by them—at least for two weeks, he has enough food to survive.

Halfway to the gas station, Richie is nearly knocked over by someone running past him. It takes him a moment to pick up his glasses from the ground and dust them off, and he is only able to see blurred black hair by the time he gets his glasses back on.

"Jeez," Richie says under his breath. "Where's the fire?" He sighs and continues his trek back to the gas station.

**-ss-**

_Richard,_

_I know you don't know who I am, but I know who you are, and I promise to explain everything if you will just accept this offer.  
__April 17th is my birthday and I'm having a party. I would really love it if you would come.  
__My address is 55555 Main Street and __I live here in Dakota. It starts at 7:00 pm and goes until whenever. Feel free to arrive whenever you want.  
__I really hope to see you there. It's completely casual and food and drink will be provided. Presents are optional.  
_

_Sincerely,  
__Virgil Hawkins  
__(555) 555-1234_

Richie blinks as he stares at the invitation he found sitting on his workbench. He looks around briefly and then back at the invitation with a raised eyebrow.

He instantly has so many questions.

But it is free food, so Richie supposes he should go. Not to mention, this Virgil character seems desperate for his attendance.

With a soft sigh, he puts the invitation in his back pocket and walks into the gas station after making sure the coast is clear. He knows Static never comes to the gas station unless there's an emergency, but it's still better to check then end up with a horrible mishap.

"Backpack," Richie says after putting the cart in the back, "I need you to remember a date for me." The eye in the middle extends and makes a beeping noise to signal he's ready for the information.

Richie rattles off the valuable information from the piece of paper.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied abuse, implied self harm, implied suicide attempt, homosexuality.

Even the bad guys need a break.

Static and Gear are sitting on the couch in their HQ with a pizza Static got for them to share. Half of the pizza is pepperoni, just as Gear wanted, and the other half is extra cheese, just as Static wanted.

Gear leans back against the couch with his first piece, folded and held by both hands. He's trying his best to not show how grateful he is for the pizza, but it is a hot meal, and he can't remember the last time he had pizza.

Or had something he didn't have to scrounge up himself.

When half the pizza is gone, it dawns on Richie that Static probably knows a lot about parties—he's far too nice to not have gone to at least a couple—which means he probably understands basic party etiquette. He scarfs down his third piece of pizza and wipes his hands on the napkin resting in his lap.

"Hey, Static, can I ask you something?"

Static raises an eyebrow and turns his head to look at Gear. His mouth is full, and it takes him a minute to finish chewing and swallow. He puts down the remainder of his piece on the lid of the pizza box and gives his full attention to Gear.

"Sure. What's up?"

"Um… Well, this is going to sound really lame, I'm sure, but I got this invitation to a party last night, but I don't know anything about party, err, etiquette." Gear looks down at his hands and bites the corner of his bottom lip. "I've never been invited to a party before, so…" He trails off and clears his throat. He looks back up and shrugs his left shoulder slightly.

For a moment, Static stares at Gear. He's slightly wide-eyed as he tries to think of something to say. Of course he knows exactly who gave Gear the invitation, but he doesn't want him to know that—at least not yet. He sighs through his nose.

"Uh…" Static stutters until he figures out what to say. He shifts and turns his body, putting his right leg under his body. "What, uh… what did the invitation say?"

Gear shrugs. "It said it was casual."

"Then I'm sure jeans and a tee-shirt will be fine."

Gear shakes his head. "No, no, that's not what I'm concerned about." In all actuality, he can't really be concerned about it, because two pair jeans and three tee-shirts is all he has. "I mean… how show I style my hair, and what time should I arrive?"

Static tries to hide his amusement by biting his bottom lip to stop himself from grinning. He closes his eyes to compose himself and exhales as he opens his eyes again. "Um… well, I don't really know what your hair looks like, except that it seems kind of shaggy." He blinks and considers the question for a minute. "Can you pull it back in a ponytail?"

Gear furrows his eyebrows and considers the question for a minute. He's never really tried, but he's sure it's long enough for that. Slowly, he nods. "I think I probably could." He furrows his eyebrows slightly. "Why?"

Static grins. "I'd get it cut, then." He internally shivers at the thought of long, stringy blond hair being pulled back in a ponytail. Granted, he often pulled his own hair back, but he had dreads, and it was different. "That's… not really a look most people like."

Gear furrows his eyebrows a little tighter. "Um… I don't really have the money to get a haircut," he says carefully. "I spent all my money on upgrading Backpack and food." It wasn't necessarily a lie, except Richie hadn't spent money on upgrading Backpack for years.

Static laughs and digs around in the pocket of his pants. He pulls his hand back out with a twenty and hands it to Gear. "Here," he says. "I'd get it cut shorter in the back, and sort of… shaggy on the top… I guess that's a good way to put that." He laughs again. "I'm sure whatever stylist you go to will know what to do."

Gear blinks and stares at the twenty in his hand. He's been given seventy dollars in two days. Part of him wants to hand the twenty back, and tell Static he doesn't need it, but that somehow seems rude. He smiles and puts the money in his breast pocket, just as he had the fifty from the day before. "Thanks," he says with a smile. "I'll make sure to do that."

The two are quite for a moment. Static is considering the second part of his question. "As for what time you should arrive, again, what does the invitation say?"

"It says it starts at seven, and goes to whenever."

"Then I don't think it matters what time you show up, as long as you do."

"I don't want to show up when everyone else is gone, though."

"Trust me," Static says, "this is an anonymous invitation—it sounds like he'll just be happy if you come at all."

Gear furrows his eyebrows again. "That's another thing," he says and looks down at his lap. "I've never met this guy; I don't know who this Virgil character is. What if this whole thing is some kind of scheme to kill me or something? I did find the invitation my workbench, so this person obviously knows who I am." Perhaps he's slightly paranoid, but given his past, he feels he has every right to be. "Maybe I shouldn't even go…"

Virgil goes internally wide-eyed, but does his best to remain calm on the outside—he still can't afford to give away what he knows.

_Oh, shit, no—no, you have to go. _

He continues to panic as he tries to think of a way to convince his partner he should go to the party. Perhaps his foolproof plan of delivering the invitation wasn't entirely foolproof. He didn't really take into consideration Richard might actually fear for his safety with someone knowing how to get in contact with him at their HQ.

"Uh… but… you can take Backpack, right? He can protect you, can't he?"

"Um…" Gear furrows his eyebrows and glances at Backpack who's resting comfortably on his workbench. He looks back at Static and shrugs. "Uh… well, I suppose he can," he says warily. "He's not really equipped for protection, though. All he has really has is a saw and a few projectiles."

"That should be enough to get away, shouldn't it?"

Gear shrugs again. "Well, I suppose. But… if this is really a party, I don't want to give away my identity to everyone else there." He sighs again and looks down at his lap. "I really shouldn't go. It's safer, I think."

_Oh, my God. _

Staticsighs.

Then, a moment later, he has an idea.

"Was there a phone number?"

Gear nods.

"Well, why don't you just call him?"

"What is that going to do? He can lie about who his is on the phone, Static. You, of all people, should know that." Gear sighs and slouches. He closes his eyes as he processes an idea. "I suppose I could always run a police scan on this guy. Backpack could do that in no time with the information I know about him."

This time Static really does go wide-eyed. Thankfully, Gear's eyes aren't open to see it.

"Is that really necessary, though?"

Gear raises an eyebrow and turns his head to look at Static. "Um… yes?" He narrows his eyes and sits up. "Why? Do you have a reason why I shouldn't run a police scan on him?"

Static bites his lip and shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows. He sighs and wraps his right hand around his left wrist under his jacket sleeve. He presses his left arm firmly against his body and glances down at his lap and shakes his head again.

He really wants Richard to come to this party, and if Virgil is going to get as far with him as he hopes he will; it means his partner is going to, without a doubt, eventually find out about his past. He just wishes it didn't have to be before they officially know one another.

Static sighs and shakes his head again, looking back up.

"No. No… I mean, I guess if that's what'll make you feel comfortable about going, then it's what you should do." Static takes in another breath and sighs to calm his nerves. He nods again. "Go ahead. I have no reason why you shouldn't."

**-ss-**

Its nearly midnight with Static and Gear finally say their goodbyes. They spent the remainder of the evening talking about miscellaneous—like how much Static hates school and can't wait to graduate, and some of the good movies playing in theaters. They were both topics Richie couldn't really contribute much to, but he has to admit he really loves listening to Static talk, so he didn't much care he had nothing to add.

Besides, there were a few times when Static let Gear talk about some of his inventions because, in all honesty, as much as Virgil has no idea what he's talking about when he goes on about his inventions, he loves the sound of his voice when he's talking passionately about something.

Quickly, Richie changes back into his street clothes and returns to the main room and sits down at his workbench where Backpack has been resting for hours.

"Backpack," Richie says and, once again, his robot boots to life. "I need you to run a police scan on the name and information I gave you yesterday. Virgil Hawkins."

It takes Backpack only a few minutes to locate the information Richie has asked for. He projects it onto the ceiling, it being the only place clear enough for Richie to adequately read all of it. He lolls his head back and reads the information allowed.

"Virgil Hawkins, nineteen-years-old, date of birth is April seventeenth nineteen eighty-eight." Richie sticks his tongue under his upper lip, nodding to himself as, so far, the information he is reading coincides with the information on the invitation. "He's the son of Robert Hawkins and Jean Hawkins, who is deceased—she died in the Dakota riot nine years ago." He pauses for a moment, twisting his lips.

_Hmm. Static also lost his mom in the riot when he was a kid._

Richie sighs, waving it off as nothing more than a coincidence and continues reading.

"At the age of eleven he—"

Richie goes wide-eyed.

_Oh, my God. This poor guy. He… he's had a harder life than me._

Granted, sometimes Richie wished his dad or Francis had just killed him, but he had never actually gone through with attempting to do it himself.

"That's enough, Backpack," Richie says after a moment of composing himself. The robot stops the display. "Keep the reminder for that party next month, Backpack. Everything seems to check out."

Backpacks beeps.

**-ss-**

It's one in the morning, according to the chiming grandfather clock in the living room.

Virgil is sitting in the kitchen with his left arm on the table, his palm facing upward. On his arm is an eight-year-old scar that goes from his wrist six inches toward his elbow. He's been staring at it for the last hour.

Behind him he hears a soft voice say his name. Immediately, Virgil panics and retracts his arm to his chest, holding it close with his right hand. He looks over his shoulder to see his sister and forces a smile.

"What are you still doing here?"

"Adam has to work late," Sharon says as she pulls out a chair across from Virgil and lowers herself into the seat. "So Daddy insisted I stay here tonight."

"Mm," Virgil murmurs. He moves his arm down his torso so he's holding it against his stomach instead. He sighs and looks down at his arm, biting the left side of his bottom lip.

Sharon raises an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, Virgil?"

"No," Virgil says quietly. "Why would you think something is wrong?"

"Well, my typical baby brother would make a snide remark about how I'm never really going to move out," Sharon says and leans back. She wraps her arms under her stomach. "So I'm left to assume that you've either been abducted by aliens or something's wrong."

Virgil sighs shakily and continues to look down at his arm. However, after a few moments, he finally looks up at Sharon. Tears are tugging at the corners of his eyes, and some of them are even managing to fall down his cheeks. He wants desperately to wipe them away, before Sharon notices, but he doesn't because he doesn't want to move his arm.

Besides, Sharon notices the tears long before Virgil desires to wipe them away. A moment later, she makes the correlation between Virgil holding his arms and the tears, and, as fast as she can manage, she gets up and walks around the table, sitting in a seat closer to Virgil.

"Are you bleeding?" Sharon asks gently, ever ready to act if he is.

Virgil shakes his head. He closes his eyes, bites his lip, and looks down.

"I miss Mom."

Sharon frowns, goose bumps running up her spine. Gently, she scoots her chair closer to Virgil and pulls him into her arms, wrapping her arms around his upper back. Virgil rests his chin on Sharon's shoulder and wraps his arms around her upper back as well.

"I know, Virgil, I miss her, too," Sharon says softly. She soothingly rubs his back with the heel of her palm. "I miss her, too."


	5. Chapter Five

**penName111: **To answer your questions: Yes, the scar is from Virgil trying to kill himself. And no, the person who gave Richie the money wasn't Robert. :) Thank you for your reviews; they mean a lot!

And thanks to the guest who gave me my first review!

And thanks to everyone reading! I appreciate it! :)

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied self harm, homosexuality.

Richie sighs as he stands outside the barber shop.

In the glass door he can see his reflection. He stares at his shoulder length blond hair, grimacing at how greasy it is. He knows it's not really his fault, the fact his hair is so grimy, because it's been awhile since he was able to get ahold of shampoo, but it's just the fact he's about to go into a public place looking like he lives on the streets.

Of course he actually does live on the streets, but it doesn't mean he has to look the part.

Sighing, Richie shakes his head and walks into the building.

"Welcome to Choice Cuts," says an overly perky receptionist as Richie approaches her. "Do you have an appointment?"

Richie furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly. "Um… n-no, I don't. Um…"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll need to have an appointment if—"

"Lisa," says a male voice coming up from behind her. The woman turns in her desk chair to see a tall, slender but muscular, African-American man. "It's alright. I can fit him in." He turns his attention to Richie. "Nice seeing you again."

"Uh… you, too," Richie says and narrows his eyebrows, trying to figure out where he's seen the man before, because everything about him seems incredibly familiar. When he's sitting in one of the seats, with the cape around his neck, he decides to ask, because he can't, for the life of him, remember where he's seen this man before.

The man laughs. "I was the one that gave you fifty dollars the other day."

"Oh," Richie murmurs, his cheeks blushing a slight shade of red, embarrassed he even had to ask. "I thought you looked familiar. Thanks again for that money."

"You're welcome," the man says with a smile. "So what am I doing for you today?"

Richie shrugs. "I… I don't know. I just know I need it cut short, I guess."

"You also need it washed," the man says with a soft laugh as he runs his fingers through Richie's hair. "Come on," he says and offers him a hand up, "I'll wash it for you before we do anything else to it."

**-ss-**

"Alright," the man says once they're back in their original spot, "I think we should keep your length, but style it a little, he says as he reaches over Richie for a pair of sheers. "Trust me; I think you'll be much happier with it."

"Will that maintain well with a helmet?" Richie asks as vaguely as he can.

"Well… no, probably not; you might end up with helmet hair, but I can teach you how to style it so you can fix it after you take helmets and hats off." He pauses and runs his fingers through Richie's hair to get the excess water out. "So, what do you say? Keep the length?"

Richie shrugs as he looks at himself in the mirror, twisting his lips at the thought. He knows Static suggested he get it cut shorter, but this guy seems to know what he's talking about, and Richie has always been partial to the length of his hair.

Finally, he draws in a deep breath through his nose and nods. "That sounds fine."

"Okay, great," the man says. "And if you don't like it when I'm done, we can always go for something shorter until you do like it."

**-ss-**

It's noon when Virgil finally wakes up.

Despite the slight headache he has from the fitful night, he's feeling a lot better than he was when he went to bed after his hour-long conversation with Sharon. Granted, he's still not feeling entirely his best, but he's at least happy enough to leave his bedroom and be with his father who, if Virgil is not mistake, is watching sports.

Virgil laughs at the thought as he gets himself of bed and makes his way to the closet. He sifts through his clothes, taking several shirts off hangers and throwing them in a box. He figures if he packs a couple of things every day, he'll be ready to move out come April.

He does the same thing with a couple pairs of jeans and a handful of boxers. He also decides to use some old newspapers to wrap and box several of the awards he had been given throughout his life, such as the one from when he played basketball in high school. They're nothing too spectacular, but they are his prized possessions, and that counts for everything.

After an hour, Virgil decides he's done packing for the day and gets dressed.

In no time at all, he's wearing a pair of black jeans; a dark blue, formfitting, long-sleeved, cotton shirt; a black, zip-up hoodie; and a pair of tennis shoes. He's aware, for the end of March, it's a little warm to be wearing so many long-sleeved layers, but after the night he had, he feels better knowing there's no way anyone could possibly see his scars.

Exhaling softly, Virgil quickly pulls his dreads back in a ponytail. When he's satisfied with the look of his hair, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweater and heads downstairs. Lo and behold, his dad is watching sports. He laughs again, but this time at the sight instead of the mere thought.

"Are we winning?" Virgil asks, sitting down beside his father. He knows full-well they are, because if there's one sport Virgil understands completely, its basketball, but he decides to ask for the sake of small talk.

Robert chuckles. "No."

At least his dad wasn't the type of guy to yell at the screen when his team was losing, because that would have just been annoying.

"You feel better today?" Robert asks. "Sharon told me about last night before she left this morning."

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Of course she did," he says and slouches into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. He sighs. "I'm fine," he says. "Not perfect, I guess, but I'm fine."

"Do you know what triggered it?"

_Yes._

"No."

Robert nods. "I understand. Sometimes I miss your mother without warning, too."

_You don't even know the half of it, Pops._

Virgil sighs and sits back up. He turns, pulling his leg under his body. He rests his right arm on the back of the couch and keeps his left against his stomach, palm facing inward. "Can I ask you a question?"

Robert mutes the television. "Shoot," he says, giving his attention to his son.

"So there's this guy I like…" Virgil trails off and twists his lips. He furrows his eyebrows as he thinks of a way to word what he wants to say, without giving everything away completely. "He, um… he doesn't know who I am, but I see him every day. Um… how do I tell him I like him, without…?" He trails off again and bites his lip. There's really nothing more he can add. He looks down and adds: "What should I do?"

Robert smiles and laughs softly through his nose. "Well, you should probably introduce yourself; let him know who you are." That's about all the advice he has, unfortunately, but because Virgil doesn't seem satisfied with just that as an answer, he tries to think of something else to say, thinking back to when he first met Jean. "Um…" He nervously scratches the back of his neck, thinking. "Oh boy."

Virgil furrows his eyebrows and smiles. It's the fact that is dad is at least trying to help that counts. "Thanks, Pops," he says and stands up. He leans over to give him a hug. It lasts for a few moments before Virgil stands up straight, stuffing his hands in his sweater pockets once again. "I think I know what to do. Thanks for your help, though."

"Oh, good," Robert says in relief. "Glad I could help." A few moments of silence linger, neither of them knowing what to say. "So… what's this boy's name?"

"Um…" Virgil blushes and takes a step back, getting out of the way of the television. He battles with the thought of whether or not he should tell his dad Richard's name, but eventually he decides it can't hurt anything if he does. He knows him less than Virgil does. "It's um… it's Richard."

Robert smiles. "So you do know a Richard."

Virgil bushes even more and looks down at his feet, biting his lip. "She was being a bitch." He looks back up. "Please don't tell Sharon. I don't want her to know. She'll make fun of me if she finds out I have a crush on someone, and it's already stressful enough trying to—"

"Virgil, breathe," Robert says. "I promise I won't tell your sister. That's not my place."

Virgil sighs in relief. "Thanks."

There are another few moments of silence.

"So what are your plans for today?"

Virgil shrugs. "Patrol, I guess."

**-ss-**

It takes nearly an hour and a half, but finally both Richie and his barber are happy with the way his hair looks.

To the front desk, Richie follows him. He begins to fish through the pocket of his jeans when a hand gentle hand on his shoulder stops him. He looks up to see a soft, caring smile.

"It's on me."

"But—"

"It's on me. Honest. Keep that money for something else."

Richie blinks and furrows his eyebrows. He runs his fingers through the back of his hair—it only slightly shorter than when he first arrived at the barber shop—and smiles. First this man gives him money to buy food, then a free haircut.

He doesn't even know the man's name.

"Are you sure?" Richie asks.

"I'm positive."

"Uh… I… thank you."

"You're welcome," the man says and smiles. "I'll see you later, and remember what I said about styling your hair. It doesn't take much; just a comb, water, and that spray," he says and gestures to the spray bottle in Richie's hand. "It doesn't take long."

"Okay. Uh… thanks again."

With a smile, Richie leaves the barber shop, his hand clutched around the twenty in his pocket and his other hand holding the spray bottle. He makes his way to the sidewalk, deciding that he's going to use the twenty to buy a whole new outfit rather than just a new shirt.

However, halfway to Goodwill, an alarm goes off. Richie sighs and looks around to see if he can tell which way the sound is coming from.

_I guess the clothes can wait 'til later._

He spins around on his heel and heads toward the gas station because, once again, he's in a race to get there before Static does.


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: **I'm terribly sorry this chapter took me so long to write. The delay of this chapter was largely a combination of being very uninspired and my boyfriend staying the week at my apartment with me. However, it is here now, and I do hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied abuse, implied self harm, homosexuality.

Ebon really sucks.

Static and Gear both sigh lowly as they crash down, side-by-side, on the couch. Static takes off his jacket just long enough to put it over his front like a blanket, and Gear wraps himself in an actual one. They both loll their heads back and sigh again. Its nearly five o'clock, meaning their battle with Ebon and his crew lasted for nearly three hours.

They are exhausted.

But at least there was a lack of Hotstreak.

Static closes his eyes and pulls his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them under his jacket-turned-blanket. He lays the side of his head against the back of the couch so he's facing Gear; however, his eyes still remain closed.

Gear turns his body ninety degrees and pulls his legs to his chest as well. His rests his back against the armrest.

"Are you doing alright, Static?"

Static opens one eye to look at Gear. He raises his eyebrow slightly, eyeing his partner. "Mm," he murmurs contentedly and closes his eye again. "I'm just tired."

Gear nods to himself. "You can get some sleep, if you want."

"What about you?"

"I have some stuff to do," Gear says, "I have to get out of here."

Static nods to himself. He shifts so his feet are on the floor and the back of his head on the back of the couch. He takes in a slow, deep breath and sighs slowly to let it out. His eyes still remain closed. "I should probably get home," he says. "My Pops is expecting me for dinner. He wants to talk about apartment things, I think."

Gear raises an eyebrow. "What apartment things?"

Static eyes pop open. For a moment, he stares at the ceiling, but eventually he sits up and turns to look at Gear. "I never told you I'm moving into an apartment?"

Gear slowly shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows more and more each time his head shakes. "No… no," He tries to hide how hurt he feels, because in a way, he doesn't feel he has a right—it's not like he's Static best friend; he doesn't even know his real name, or much about his personal life. "I guess you didn't."

"Oh."

_Well, great, some friend _I_ am. I know his real name and I don't even tell him anything about my personal life. He must think I don't want to be friends with him or something._

Static sighs and bites the left side of his bottom lip. "Um… Yeah, I'm moving into an apartment in about two weeks. My dad agreed to pay the rent for the first six months, until I can find a job." He shrugs. "It shouldn't be too hard; I've got some interviews lined up for next week."

Slowly, Gear nods and looks down at his hands. Sometimes he thought about trying to get a job, but, unfortunately, a nineteen-years-old without a high school diploma has little to no chance of landing anything worthwhile, so he doesn't even both trying.

It's not worth the heartache; it's not worth hearing: 'You didn't even bother going back for a GED? You must not care about getting an education, so you obviously won't care about this job. I'm sorry, but you aren't what we're looking for.' If only they knew the truth; if only they knew Richie didn't need to go back for an education.

If only they knew how smart he is.

"That's nice," Gear says; he is painfully aware of how unenthusiastic he sounds. He's not trying to sound like he doesn't care, but conversations about money tend to make him bitter. "I'm sure you'll like it."

Static sniffs and nods casually. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"Do you live on your own?"

Gear furrows his eyebrows and looks down at his lap. "Um… Y-Yeah, I do."

_Sure. Okay. Yeah. We can certainly put it that way._

"That must be nice. Do you like it?"

"Uh…" Gear furrows his eyebrows tighter and shuts his eyes. Richie's trying as hard as he can to not have a flashback to his dad; to the night he decided to leave home. "Yeah, I guess," he says barely above a whisper. "I suppose it's pretty nice. I, uh… I don't… Um… yeah, it's nice. My parents fought a lot, so it's nice to not hear it anymore."

Static furrows his eyebrows sympathetically. "I… I'm sorry to hear that."

Gear shrugs. "It's fine. I mean, I don't have to listen to it anymore, so they can… they can fight all they want now. I don't really care." The truth of it was, he really _didn't_ care. His dad was abusive and his mother was submissive and never stood up for him—the last thing cared about was what they did, and he hadn't cared for nearly five years. "It's fine."

"Still," Static says as he hoists himself off the ground. He slides his jacket off his arms to turn it around, not noticing his partner's narrowed eyes. He's turned away as he continues talking. "It must have been hard growing up with your parents constantly fighting, and that being what forced you to move out as soon as possible. I can't imagine dealing with that."

_You don't even know the half of it, Static._

Gear sighs and stands up, walking up behind Static. "Let's not play the 'whose past is worse' game, because I can't imagine dealing with what you dealt with, either, Static."

Static blinks and spins around to look at Gear. He's about to ask how he knew about that, but he immediately realizes he's already told Gear about his mom and takes a step back—the last thing he needs is to prematurely reveal who he is. Especially since this current moment is not the prime time for that—they are both tired, and need rest.

"Look," Static says, "I really should go. I'm already late as it is."

Gear nods. "Okay," he says as he watches Static leave. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says gently, raising his hand to his shoulder to wave it. Unfortunately, Static doesn't look back, so he doesn't see it. Gear drops his hand to his side and takes a step back. He sighs as he sits down on the couch and bites his bottom lip.

_Did I say something wrong?_

**-SS-**

Virgil sighs loudly as he lies down on the couch.

_God, he probably thinks I'm the biggest douche bag ever, for leaving the way I did. God, I'm such a fucking idiot—I didn't even wave goodbye to him. He probably thinks I hate him now!_

Truth be told, Virgil just didn't want to stick around long enough to hear Richard talk about his findings in the police search, because from the way their conversation was going, it was bound to get to his findings eventually. Besides, Virgil knows what's in his police record, and the last thing he needs or wants is to hear about it. The fact he constantly sees scars on his arms is more than enough to remind him of his past.

Still, though, it doesn't mean he had to leave the way he did. Virgil groans and turns over, burying his face into the cushion, his breathing becoming heavy and ragged.

_God, I seriously feel like the biggest fucking jerk right now. I just wish I could tell him who I am sooner. This is going to be the longest two weeks ever. I just want to make this work; I want to be with him._

Virgil groans again. This time his groan is filled with a little more emotional pain.

"Is there something wrong, baby brother?"

Blinking, Virgil lifts his head and looks over the back of the couch. He sees Sharon standing in the doorway with a wooden spoon in one hand and a red mixing bowl in the other. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and puts his face back in the couch.

"Do you ever leave?"

"Again, Adam is at work. He won't be back until later tonight. Daddy wanted me to stay here."

"You are _pregnant_, Sharon; you don't have some terminal fucking illness that's going to kill you at any second." He looks back over the back of the couch. "I really think you can go the fuck home. Trust me."

Sharon rolls her eyes. "Fine, if you don't want me to make you dinner—"

"I'd honestly rather live, thanks."

Sharon growls and abruptly turns on her heels, going back into the kitchen. She yells at Virgil over her shoulder. "Just because you've been upset the last two days doesn't mean you need to be an ass and alienate everyone, Virgil." She rolls her eyes and continues cooking.

Virgil sighs and lifts his head again. He peers over the couch and watches Sharon. With a sigh, he rests his chin on the back of the couch. When he talks, his voice is a little strained from his neck being stretched out. "Sharon, I'm sorry; I'm not trying to be an ass. I'm just really stressed right now." He puts his face back into the couch and sighs.

After a moment, Sharon is standing in the doorway once again. "What are you stressed about?" She puts her arms under her stomach, having put the bowl and spoon down while she was back in the kitchen. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's everything," Virgil mutters. "School, getting this apartment, finding a job, being a superhero—you know, fucking everything." He leaves off the part about having a crush, because he's still convinced Sharon is going to make fun of him for it, and he doesn't currently need that what with all the other factors stressing him out. If anything, he knows what to do to keep himself from relapsing.

"Not to mention," Virgil continues, "I was anything but polite to Gear before I left him today, so he probably hates me now. And I _really_ didn't mean to be rude to him."

"Just explain to Gear why you're stressed, Virgil," Sharon says, walking up to the couch. She rests her hands on the back. "I'm sure he'll understand why you were rude if you just explain the situation to him. He seems like a reasonable guy."

Virgil blinks and sits up. He crosses his legs and looks up at his sister, sitting on the couch backward. He stares at her for a few moments, lost in thought—if only explaining everything to Richard was honestly that easy. If only he could just grab Richard by the shoulders and tell him he likes him, and that he knows his secret identity, but it is okay, because he has a crush on him.

If only.

"I suppose."

"By the way," Sharon says as she turns to go back into the kitchen, "Daddy wants to move you into your apartment on the first instead of the seventh. He says it's easier on his schedule, and it will give you more time to settle in before your party."

Virgil goes wide eyed and his jaw drops. "Oh, my God, are you serious? The _first_?! What the fuck, Sharon, that's only _two days_! How am I supposed to get all my shit packed in two days, and what the fuck possessed you to think _now _was a good time to tell me this?! I just told you I'm stressed out!"

Groaning loudly, Virgil gets off the couch and heads toward the steps. He grumbles as he walks to his bedroom. "God damn it, does no one in this house ever tell me anything? I'm not even halfway done packing my fucking room, and I have a midterm to study for, and I have a fucking city to protect. Fucking hell, can no one just _work with me _for once? God, I can't catch a single break, can I?" When he makes it into his room, he slams the door, and the sound echoes throughout the house.

Conveniently, at the same moment Virgil slams the door, Robert walks into the house. He looks up the stairwell and raises an eyebrow. "What was that?" Robert asks Sharon as she's heading back into the kitchen. He hangs up his coat and follows her.

"It was Virgil."

Robert chuckles, shaking his head, and sits down at the table. "What did you two fight about this time?"

"We didn't fight about anything, Daddy; I just told him you want to move him into his apartment on the first instead of the seventh. He's already stressed out, so he got mad at me, but I thought it'd be better to tell him today than wait until Tuesday. He might have blown up the house."

"Mm," Robert murmurs and picks up the newspaper from the middle of the table. He opens to where he left off earlier that morning and sits back in his chair. "I'm honestly surprised he hasn't _already_ blown up the house, honey." A post-pubescent male, with a history of mental instability, and the ability to harness and control electricity, which is still uncontrollable during states of heightened emotion, is certainly the recipe for a deadly combination.

Sharon laughs and returns to cooking dinner.

**-SS-**

After several hours of shopping at Goodwill, Richie returns to the gas station with three new tee-shirts and a pair of dark blue jeans. He even managed to find a pair of brand new black, leather works boots for fifty cents, because that was the sale they had going on—fifty cent shoes. How no one had already bought them was a mystery to Richie, but he was glad no one had.

He sets down the bag on his workbench and sits down on the couch. He turns on the television and skims through the dozen channels the television has, leaving it on a news report about the upcoming November election. He rolls his eyes after thirty seconds of listening to Senator McCain talk about his politics. He looks away and stands up, going to the microwave to prepare one of the frozen meals he bought.

Standing in front of the microwave, he watches as the frozen food melts and begins to cook. He leans back against the wall and sighs, crossing his arms. For a few moments, his mind reels over the conversation he and Static had earlier that day. He then begins to think about the decisions he has made, grimacing as he relives each one—running away from home, dropping out of high school, trusting Francis, and, finally, refusing a shelter and opting to live on the streets. He sighs as he closes his eyes, biting back the tears threatening to fall.

In a way, despite the fact Static lost his mother due to gunfire, Richie would give anything to have that life instead because, at the very least, Static has a place to go at the end of the night. Richie, instead, spends his time at the gas station and sleeps at other miscellaneous abandoned buildings, so as to not risk getting caught by his partner.

By far, though, the decision he regrets the most is dropping out of high school because he honestly has no idea how to go about correcting that mistake, which has only led him down a road of misery with trying to find a job. After nearly a year of applying and being rejected, he quit trying because disappointment and rejection on a withered soul is hard to cope with.

Besides, Richie has flashbacks about his dad and Francis far too frequently to maintain a job—he would eventually get himself fired for not being able to do his job because of his mental state. In all actuality, to really pinpoint what his mental state is like, it's a wonder he's able to do his job as a superhero at all, even besides Hotstreak. It's a wonder being thrown against buildings and the ground isn't a trigger for him.

It's something Richie's so used to.

Richie sighs and shakes away his thoughts before they have a chance to become flashbacks, because sometimes he can control it. He sighs again and retrieves his now cooked frozen dinner from the microwave and walks back to the television. He smiles when he sees Senator Obama on the screen.

With a sigh of contentment, he sits back and rests the food on his chest to eat.

If only for a few moments, the stress of his life fades away as he listens to the television and eats his food. If only for a few moments, he feels like he has complete control of his life. Feels that things might actually, one day, get better.

These few, stress free, moments make him feel that one day he might go back to school, land a good job, stop having flashbacks, and get a house where he can settle down with a man he loves, and have kids he'll raise and treat way better than his parents ever raised or treated him. Those were the thoughts that, despite how far-fetched and out of reach they seemed, were the only ones keep him going most days.

The thoughts of hope.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied abuse, implied self harm, homosexuality.

"This is fucking ridiculous, Shay. I was supposed to move into that apartment on the seventh, not the first. I have two days to finish packing this fucking room."

Virgil shifts his cell phone from one ear to the other as he grabs handfuls of underclothes and tosses them in a box at his feet. He sighs as he watches the box quickly fill up, wondering momentarily why he has so many pairs of boxers.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have collected so much stuff."

Virgil growls and slams the now empty drawer shut with his hip. He walks across the room to his closet where he begins to sort through his shirts. "See, this is why we broke up—because you are not the least bit helpful when I'm having a crisis," he says, tucking the phone under his chin as he begins to fold and drop shirts into another box, also at his feet.

"First of all, Virg, having to speed up your packing is _far_ from a crisis. Second, we broke up because you refused to come to my grandmother's funeral."

Virgil rolls his eyes and drops the folded shirt into the box. He grabs another and repeats the process. "Well, _excuse_ _me_ for not wanting to go to two funerals in the same fucking month. Losing my grandmother was a little devastating, Shay."

"I went to _your_ grandmother's funeral. The least you could have done was cone to_mine_. Besides, you don't think losing my grandmother wasn't devastating for me?"

"I never said it wasn't devastating for you, Shay. I'm saying that at least you didn't lose the last family tie you have to your mother." Virgil drops the shirt into the box and sighs, sitting down in his desk chair a few feet away. "At least you still have your mother," he says as he begins to clear out his desk.

"How long are you going to use the 'dead mother' card?"

"As long as you continue to be an ass," Virgil says, getting down on his hands and knees to unplug his lamp from under his desk. "You broke up with me because I didn't want to come to your grandmother's funeral. That's sort of a dick move." He sits back down. "Especially when you know _why_ I didn't want to come."

"You know what? Let's just call truce on this." These fights were never worth it. Besides, they were were better as best friends than boyfriends, and it wasn't worth it to ruin their friendship over petty fights about when they were dating. "This fight never turns out well."

"Fine," Virgil says and wraps the cord around the base of the lamp. He sets it down in a box of clothes. "But you know I'm right."

"I said truce, Virgil. That means we're done with this conversation."

Virgil huffs through his nose.

"So, you're moving into your apartment on the first now?" Shay asks, changing the topic.

"Yes."

"Ever think that maybe this is some kind of April fool's joke?"

Virgil narrows his eyes. He puts his phone back in his hand and holds it out in front of him, staring at it, deadpan, as if he is giving Shay the same exact look. He blinks again and puts the phone back to his ear, rolling his eyes before speaking.

"Shay, who the fuck pulls an April fool's joke _before _April first? Besides, have you ever met my sister? She wouldn't know a sense of humor if it stabbed her fucking funny bone."

"Which, as it happens—"

"Yes, oh, my God, Shay, I know—it's not funny when you hit your humorous," Virgil finishes, rolling his eyes again. He puts the phone back between his ear and shoulder and stands up, looking around the room for something to pack. He finally decides to take down and roll up his posters. He continues talking as he begins to roll up a poster of the planets. "God damn it, Shay, I swear you sound like Gear sometimes."

Shay snorts. "At least you can _understand_ what I'm talking about. I'm pretty sure Gear would have even _Einstein_ baffled." There's a short pause and a distant rustling before he continues. "Besides, his voice is far sexier than mine. There is no way I could ever _sound like _Gear."

Virgil blinks and stops rolling the poster. He stares absently at the wall in front of him, plagued with sudden memories of Gear's voice—how it sounds when he's mad, when he's upset, and when he's focused. If there's one voice Virgil loves like music, has always loved, it's his.

"Yo, Earth to Virgil," Shay yells. "Virgil, where the fuck are you; can you even hear me?"

Apparently Virgil was lost in thought a little longer than he meant to be.

Shaking his head, Virgil snaps out of his trance to hear Shay yelling into the phone. "Hey, stop yelling! I can hear you just fine," he says, moving the phone to his other ear. "Why the fuck were you yelling at me?"

"Um… maybe because I was talking to you for _five minutes_ and you weren't fucking answering?"

"Sorry."

"What the fuck were you doing?"

"Sorry," Virgil says again, "I was… I was lost in thought."

"Well, that's never good," Shay says, half joking and half serious. "What were you thinking about?"

"I was… I was just thinking about Gear."

"Ooh," Shay murmurs. Virgil can almost hear him waggling his eyebrows. "What about him?"

Virgil blinks and looks over his shoulder, verifying that his door is locked. He sighs and looks back at the wall he was previously staring before looking down at his feet. He moves the phone to his hand and sighs again, letting his shoulders relax.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"You _know_ I can't," Shay answers quickly, laughter in his voice. "What the secret?"

Virgil sighs. "I… I um… I know Gear's real name."

"Oh, you do? Tell me!"

"No!" Virgil says a bit louder than he meant to. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lowers his voice as he continues talking. "No, and you can't tell _anyone _I know it. Do you understand me? I will break our 'no powers' promise and kill you if you tell anyone."

There's a moment of silence.

"So, how did you find out?"

"I, err, overheard him on the phone. He introduced himself to someone. That's all I heard because I accidentally made a noise and had to bolt out of there before he saw me." Virgil clears his throat. "I left him a note at our headquarters inviting him to my party."

"Do you even know what he actually looks like?"

"Well… no. Why?"

"Then how are you going to know if he comes or not?"

Virgil blinks, and after a moment, he closes his eyes and takes in a deep, slow breath, letting it out with a sigh. "I, um… I didn't think that far in advance."

"Surprise. Surprise."

"Shut up, Shay," Virgil says and continues rolling posters after resting the phone between his ear and shoulder again. "Besides, maybe he'll introduce himself to me when he arrives. Maybe he'll arrive and come seek me out and ask how I know him."

"Does he know what _you _look like? Does he even know who you are, Virgil?"

"No and no," Virgil says and groans. "That's why he ran a police scan."

"Oh, that's good. Now he knows you've been to a loony bin, but still has no idea who you are. That is a _fabulous _way to start a relationship."

"It wasn't a fucking _loony bin_," Virgil hisses. "It was a child psychiatric hospital," he says through his teeth. He takes a moment to calm himself before continuing—Shay had a wonderful way of grating at Virgil's nerves. "Besides, I_ never said_ I wanted to start a relationship with him."

"You didn't have to."

Virgil drops the rolled poster in an empty box and pinches the bridge of his nose again. "Remind me again why we're still friends?" he says slowly.

"Who else are you going to tell that you want to bang Gear?"

Virgil groans.

"How do you know he likes men, anyway?"

"I don't know. He… he mentioned having a boyfriend once."

"So let me get this straight," Shay begins, "You overheard Gear say his real name while on the phone, and now you've invited him to your party, because you have a crush on him and you want to get to know him. However, you have no idea what Gear actually looks like, so you're not even going to know or not if he comes, and the only thing he knows about you is your name, age, birthday, that your mother is dead, and you were in a _child psychiatric hospital_." He emphasizes the last part partially to let Virgil know he was listening to the correction, but also to annoy him. "And I assume the _only _thing you know about him is his real name, and that he had a boyfriend once? Because if you're this excited about a name, I assume Gear doesn't tell you much, if anything, about his personal life?" He pauses for a moment to catch his breath. "Is that about it?"

"I know he's not in college," Virgil adds softly.

With a loud, long sigh, Virgil blinks a few times and looks around his room. It's the combination of everything lying around and his thoughts about Gear that are starting to stress him out, and it's never good when Virgil starts to stress in this way. He sighs and lolls his head back, closing his eyes. He takes a moment to count backward from ten in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Just come over and help me pack. Please."

Shay snickers. "I'll be over in a ten."

**-SS-**

"So this is your new place?" Shay asks, walking into Virgil's empty apartment with his arms full of boxes. With a loud grunt, he sets them down at his feet. "It's not too bad." He turns around to face Virgil who is setting down an armload of boxes as well. "You sure there's going to be enough room for all the people you're inviting to your party?"

"Now, boys," Robert says as he walks into the apartment with a couple boxes, followed closely behind Sharon who's carrying something light. "I don't want you two to think that just because Virgil's got a place of his own, you can go crazy. This apartment is to teach Virgil responsibility. Not how much he can drink." He looks at Shay. "That goes for you, too, Shay."

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins," Shay says.

"We weren't even going to have alcohol at the party, Pops. Besides, I've only invited, like, ten people from school. So, at most, there will be, like, twenty people here, not including me. So there may be twenty-one people here, at the most."

"That's an awful lot of people, Virgil."

"I said 'at the most,' Pops—there could be less. There probably will be less." Virgil sighs desperately and walks around so he's facing Robert. "Don't worry, Pops. It will be fine. I promise the party won't get out of hand. There will be no drinking."

Robert stares at Virgil for a moment before smiling and patting his shoulder. "I know, Virgil. You've never let me down before." He removes his hand from his son's shoulder and takes a step back, looking around. "Alright—let's get you set up."

**-SS-**

It takes nearly six hours, but by dinner time, Virgil's apartment is almost entirely set up. Everyone is sitting on the couch—except for Sharon who is sitting in a wooden chair—admiring the work they put into making the apartment homier. It still has a long way to go, but for the time being, it's perfect.

"I'm gonna go out to the car really quick," Virgil announces as he stands up. "I forgot to bring in my posters."

Virgil makes his way out the front door and down a long hallway to a series of steps where he quickly makes his way down to the first floor. When he's outside, he walks down the sidewalk to his father's car, and grabs his posters from the backseat.

On the way back to the apartment, he runs into a blond-haired boy, knocking them both to the ground, and sending Virgil's posters all over the sidewalk.

However, the posters are not Virgil's immediate concern.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Virgil says, quickly getting up off the ground. He holds out his hand to the man he accidentally knocked over. "I didn't even see you there. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," the man says, letting himself be helped off the ground. "I've fallen harder than that," he jokes lightly. They both laugh softly. "It's nothing, you're fine."

Virgil smiles as he begins to collect his posters. "I'm Virgil," he says, putting the rolled posters back in the box. "I just moved into the apartments down there," he says, gesturing down the street to the complex with one of his posters.

"Oh. Um, I'm Richie," he says, somewhat hesitantly, narrowing his eyes for a moment. Eventually he takes in a deep breath and sighs, shaking his head. It's too difficult to figure out where he's seen this man before, because he's pretty sure he hasn't—even if the name and his appearance are all too familiar. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Richie," Virgil says. He stands up straight, with the box under his arm. "Do you live around here?"

"Um…" Richie furrows his eyebrows. Lie or tell the truth—that's the question. "I um… I live on the other side of town, actually. I just… I'm, uh… I'm on a walk."

"Wow. This is awful far to be walking."

Richie shrugs. "Eh. It's not too bad. I've done it before. Besides, I needed some fresh air to clear my head. I've been… kind of stressed out."

"I completely understand," Virgil says with a smile.

_Somehow, I really, highly doubt that._

Richie gives a friendly smile and glances up at the sky. He sighs when he notices how dark it's getting. "I should probably go, actually," he says and looks back at Virgil, "dinnertime and all that. But it was nice meeting you. Maybe we'll see each other again."

"Maybe, if you walk around here a lot, I'm sure we will." Virgil smiles and nods and holds out his hand for Richie to take. "Nice meeting you, too, Richie."

Richie shakes Virgil's hand.

Sharing one last smile, Richie watches Virgil walk away. He rocks back and forth on his heels, smiling. He sighs and bites his lip as he spins around on his heels, continuing his trek back to the gas station to get something to eat.

Virgil.

Why did he seem so damn familiar?

**-SS-**

"What took you so long?" Shay asks when Virgil returns. "Your dad's car was just down the street."

"Sorry," Virgil says. "I accidentally ran into someone, and had to pick up all the posters from the sidewalk." He sniffs and puts the box on Shay's lap, sitting down beside him. "And I had to help him up, of course, and make sure he was okay."

"Did you get his name?"

Virgil rolls his eyes—the only thing Shay was ever concerned with was names and phone numbers. It still surprised Virgil his best friend was married.

"His name was Richie."

"Was he cute?"

Virgil sighs loudly and rolls his eyes again. "Jesus Chri—yes, Shay, he was cute."

Robert laughs as he stands up, Sharon following moments later. "I think it's time your sister and I go," he says, giving Virgil a hug. "Enjoy the apartment. And don't get into too much trouble. I'll be back on Sunday to help you finish unpacking."

"Okay," Virgil says and returns the hug, "thanks again, Pops. See you Sunday."

Virgil steps away and gives Sharon a brief hug before her and Robert both leave. Virgil sighs and turns to Shay, putting his hand on his hip. He twists his lips and shrugs, sighing again.

"And before you even ask," Virgil says, dropping his hand, "No, I did not get his phone number. I don't just pick up random guys off the street."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied self harm, implied abuse, depiction of rape, homosexuality.

_Virgil._

_Why does he seem so familiar?_

Richie sniffs as he sits down on the couch with a cup of water. He's just spent the last three hours tinkering with Backpack, in an attempt to improve his reaction time to voice commands, and now he needs a break.

As soon as he sits down, his thoughts about the man he met several days before begin to flood. He knows he's heard of and seen that man somewhere before, but he just can't seem to pinpoint exactly where. He also doesn't exactly know why he's so preoccupied with it, except for the fact that he's absolutely certain he has seen that man before, but he can't recall where.

These thoughts of this man are starting to become more and more frequent. As a matter-of-fact, it's infuriating how much Richie has on his plate, that he can't even sort out something as simple as recalling a face and a name. It's something he's normally really good at, and the fact he's spent so long thinking about it is driving him nuts.

Given who he is, he should have this figured out by now. Gear always figures everything out without trouble.

This should be no different.

_I need to figure out who this man is. I can't keep stressing about this; I have other, more important things to worry about—like where I'm going to get more food, and how I'm going to get it, because I'm almost out again._

Five days was way too long to be worrying about the same thing.

Richie shakes his head and breaks free from his thoughts and gets up, setting his cup down on the table. He walks to his workbench where he finds the invitation just lying. He picks it up and reads over it, making a mental note of the parts that are especially standing out.

Main Street. Virgil Hawkins. Twentieth birthday.

Richie sighs and sets down the invitation.

"Backpack, run that police scan on Virgil Hawkins one more time," Richie says, turning his attention to his robot. "I want to finish reading it. Also, if you find any current pictures of him, I want to see them. The one I saw last times was nearly ten years old."

Backpack beeps and carries out Richie's command.

**-SS-**

"You know," Virgil says. His phone is pressed to his ear with his left hand, and his is laying on his stomach on his bed, his other hand holding up his chin. "I think I know that guy from somewhere."

"What guy?"

"Richie. The one I ran into on the street when I first moved in here."

"Virg, if he had to introduce himself, I highly doubt you know him."

"No, listen," Virgil insists. He flips over and sits up. He scoots back against the headboard and movies the phone from his left ear to the other. "His voice, I've been thinking about it, and it sounded really familiar."

"So what, now you have a crush on two guys?"

Virgil growls under his breath. "Shay, can you just shut the fuck up for five seconds? I'm trying to figure out something."

"Sorry, sorry, please continue."

"Thank you," Virgil says, not at all thankful. He sighs, loudly through his nose and continues. "Now, I've been thinking about his voice, and it sounds really, really familiar. I'm not really sure where I've heard it before, but I'm almost certain that I have, and for some reason, the name Richie kind of rings a bell, like maybe it's short for something."

"Virgil," Shay says calmly, "I think you're just looking for something to project your stress on. Your party is coming up really soon, and you have midterms, and you're waiting for callbacks from interviews, and I think you're just stressed, and want to focus on something else, so you chose this man—probably because he's new and interesting, and not your typical, everyday life."

Virgil shoves his tongue in his cheek and sighs, irritated, as he begins to bounce his leg on the bed. "Fine, yes, I am stressed out because of school, and this party, and all the other shit, but listen: I really, really think that I've heard this man's voice before. I keep thinking I've heard some kind of distorted version of it or something, because I keep trying to put it to memory, and that's all I can get, but I can't recall who the distorted version belongs to."

"Virgil…" Shay begins, his tone gentle, but he trails off and sighs before he gets into the meat of what he really wants to say. He sighs; if Virgil wants to focus on something else besides what has him stressed, then so be it for Shay to take that away from him.

Besides, it's either let Virgil focus on this, however real it may or may not be, or let him scratch himself until he bleeds, Shay figures, and the last thing he wants is for Virgil to hurt himself. He may be an ass to his best friend, but he still cares about him.

Shay sighs again. "Alright, talk to me."

"Alright, well, I've figured out that I've heard his voice before. I know that much. I can't figure out where I've heard it, though; and the memory I keep coming up with is something similar to it, but a little more distorted. It's almost like I've heard this voice, but through a mask or one of those voice distorting megaphones." Virgil pauses and twists his lips, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looks down at his lap. "Maybe I'm just crazy, and I've never heard this voice before, but I really, really think I have." He blinks and looks back up at the wall. "I would understand if you think I'm crazy."

"Virgil, I know for a _fact _you're crazy," Shay retorts. It makes them both laugh—only Shay can make snide remarks about Virgil's mental health and expect him to laugh about it. "But I suppose it is possible you've heard this man's voice before. I mean, you do work with a lot of masked people, so perhaps it's possible you ran into someone you've worked with, and that's why his voice sounds familiar."

Virgil takes a few moments to consider the option. It is incredibly possible, he figures, that Richie is someone he has worked with as Static, and it would explain why he is putting the memory of his voice to a distorted version of it, rather than an actual face.

The problem is, though, Virgil has, not surprisingly, worked with more blond-haired, white-skinned males than he cares to count, and is having trouble deciding where to begin in trying to figure out which one of those men Richie is. Figuring this out would be so much easier, he knows, if not every single man he's ever worked with wore a full facemask.

"If Richie is someone I've worked with, do you think he's trying to figure out why I sound familiar?"

"Maybe," Shay says. "I mean, it's certainly possible, I suppose."

**-SS-**

"Oh, my God, that was the same person. That person I ran into on the sidewalk on Tuesday was this person," Richie says to Backpack. The robot beep to confirm Richie's voice has been registered. There is, of course, no response, because Richie hasn't programmed Backpack to do that—yet. "That person I met was Virgil Hawkins."

Richie stares at the information being projected on to the ceiling, his mouth slightly agape as he takes in the information. At the very bottom of the police scan is a two-year-old picture of Virgil, and it looks all too similar to the man he met on the sidewalk, except, in the picture, his dreads are a lot shorter. Given where Virgil said he just moved into, compared with the address on the scan, Richie is absolutely certain the man he just recently met and the man who invited him to the party is the same person.

"That's enough, Backpack," Richie says, and the information disappears. "Now I just need to figure out how that guy knows me, because I'm pretty sure I've never met him before." He pauses for a brief moment, his thoughts wandering. He clicks his tongue when he has an idea. "Unless I've worked with him, because he did sound kind of familiar."

_I wonder if this guy is Static, and if he is…_

Richie backs up and stumbles to the couch. He lolls his head forward and holds it between his hands, suddenly feeling incredibly stressed. There are so many questions going through Richie's mind at once:

_If __this__guy is Static, how did he find out who I am? What does this guy know about me? Does he know I'm homeless? If he doesn't, what will he think when he does find out? Why does Virgil want me at his party, anyway? Is it because Virgil wants to get to know me? Does he like me? Oh, God, I hope not, because I'm not the least bit ready for another relationship, and—Oh, God, no… not again…_

With a loud, pained groan, Richie doubles over and wraps his arms around his neck. He rocks himself slowly as he becomes flooded with flashbacks of Francis once again. He tries desperately to think of anything else—theories, ideas, equations, Static—but the flashbacks take over far too quickly for Richie to replace them.

_Francis, please stop! Please, that hurts: stop burning me! I don't want to have sex right now; I'm not in the mood! Please, just let me go! We can—_

Richie wants to cry, but his face is pressed into the ground and he can't breathe. He begins gasping for air until he feels a strong hand land hard on the side of his head, along with a gruff command to stop making noise. Richie takes in a sharp breath and, mere seconds later, lets it out with a loud cry as a sharp pain encompasses him—and it's, without a doubt, the worst pains he's ever felt, and he has to relieve it every single time he has a flashback; has to relieve it every single day of his life.

There is no way Richie is ready for a relationship.

"Francis, _stop_!" Richie screams at the top of his lungs, tears in his tone. The echo of his own voice startles him, and the flashback abruptly stops.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, Richie finally gulps and looks up, fully siting up a few moments later. He examines his surroundings, noticing that nothing is out of the ordinary. He reaches his hand up and wipes his sweat-soaked forehead with the back of his hand. He sniffs and sighs, biting his lip as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"I need a shower."

The last time Richie felt so disgusting, Francis actually raped him.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, depiction self harm, implied abuse, implied rape, homosexuality.

**A/N: **Serious trigger warning on the self-harm. Please be careful, you guys. I don't want any of you triggered.

One more day.

Virgil's birthday is in one day, which means so is his party, and the last thing he cares about is either of those. Currently, he's worried about finding a job and his exams. He got a call back from every place he interviewed, all of them saying he was not what they were currently looking for. As for his exams, as if taking them were not stressful enough, now he's worried about how well he did on them. Those two factors alone are enough to drive him completely insane with stress and anxiety.

Not to mention, Virgil is still preoccupied with attempting to figure out whom Richie is, and why he sounds so familiar. His preoccupation with Richie is, also, the reason Virgil is so stressed out about exam scores—if it weren't for obsessing over who this mystery man is, he probably would have bothered to study for his exams a little more, and would, therefore, be more confident in whether or not he passed them.

So far, living alone is not all it's cracked up to be. Granted, his dad is supplying him with rent money, and an allowance for groceries, but he wants to be able to do more, and without a job, he can't even go out on Friday nights with Shay. Thankfully his birthday is coming soon, because at least then he'll have a little bit of spending money for a couple weeks.

Until then, though, the only thing Virgil cares about is the things stressing him out.

With a loud sigh, Virgil falls backward on his bed and crosses his arms over his eyes. He slows down his breathing in an attempt to regain control of his thoughts. Unfortunately, though, they're all spinning at once and he can't seem to gain control of them. His eyes spring open and he's met with the posters hanging on his ceiling. Groaning painfully, he pushes himself up and looks around his room.

Everyone—including Sharon, Robert, and Shay—thinks Virgil quit cutting at fifteen, after he became Static. They all think that because Virgil became Static, he now has something to focus his attention, and he doesn't need to cut anymore. They all think Virgil has gone nearly five years without cutting.

Unfortunately, that's just what Virgil convinced everyone of, and not what's actually true.

In actuality, Virgil barely made it six months after becoming Static without cutting. Becoming a hero was a godsend, so to speak, because it became the perfect excuse to make everyone think he stopped for good. As soon as everyone believed he quit, he started it up again. Now, he barely goes three weeks without cutting. He tries to not do it, doing everything else imaginable to keep himself from it, but sometimes his stress gets so bad that he can't take it, and he caves.

His cutting isn't about his mother anymore—that may have been how it started, and is probably subconsciously still the reason, but he really does it because he needs it. It's an addiction—the feeling if pain, the sight of blood, and the sense of feeling alive; the feeling of life—that Virgil refuses to give up.

With a soft sigh, Virgil gets up from the bed and makes his way to his dresser. Somewhere in the back of the top drawer is as small box. It's full of broken metal scraps—ranging from jagged to straight, all of them stainless steel. He's almost ashamed to say that most of his tools are metal scraps from inventions Gear has worked on in the past, but there was no other way he could covertly get something for cutting. If he tried to buy razors, his father would have questioned what they were for, because even though he believed Virgil quit, he still also knew there was the possibility of a relapse.

The thought made Virgil nauseous with guilt—the fact his father never demanded to see his arms, because he trusts he stopped.

Opening the box, Virgil grabs one of the more jagged pieces and drops the box back in his top drawer. He holds the piece tightly in his hand and sits back down on his bed. Rolling up his right sleeve, he rests his scarred arm on his leg and stares at it for a few moments, deciding where he wants to cut, because it isn't a matter of whether or not he wants to anymore—he wants to.

Virgil closes his eyes, deciding he doesn't care where he cuts, as long as he can just feel the relief of it. As he pushes the metal into his skin, he lets out a low groan of satisfaction. He relaxes into the bed, his back and shoulders slouching.

It doesn't even hurt. It just feels good.

By the time Virgil drops the bloodied tool and opens his eyes, he has sixteen new, crisscrossing cuts on his arm. He watches as the blood beads and drips down his arm. This is the sight he loves; the sight of life dripping down his arm; the reminder that he's alive and not just some kind of walking dead. Not to mention, as he watches the blood drip, he sees his anxiety and stress leaving as well. He watches as worry about his grades leaves, the stress about who Richie is and how he knows him, the anxiety about getting a job—he watches it all leave with each drop of dark red blood that slides down his arm.

Above all else, though, Virgil can now go another stretch of time without thinking about his mother. Her death may have been almost a decade ago, and he may have talked to therapist after therapist about it, but the fact of the matter was, nothing was ever going to make the pain of her death go away.

Nothing, that is, but bleeding.

**-SS-**

"Backpack, that party is tomorrow."

For close to an hour, Richie has been pacing back and forth in front of his workbench. He has been wrestling endlessly with whether or not he should go to this party. On the one hand, he wants to go because he promised himself weeks earlier that he would. On the other hand, though, he doesn't want to go because he has no idea why Virgil wants him at this party, but whatever the reason, Richie is absolutely positive he's not prepared for it—be it a desire for a relationship or a desire for just plain friendship; he's not ready for either of those things.

Richie's not ready to trust anyone.

After running into Virgil on April first, merely two weeks earlier, Richie has experienced more flashbacks than in his entire four years of living on the streets. The severity of his flashbacks in the last two weeks has ranged from memories of his dad simply slapping him around in Kindergarten, to the night Francis and his buddies…

With a soft sigh, Richie sits down on the couch and rests his arms on his lap. Slowly at first, but with increased speed over the course of a few minutes, Richie snaps the rubber band around his left wrist. He closes his eyes, enjoying the wonderful sensation; enjoying the fact that it's giving him something else to focus his mind on, so he can both not think about Francis or his dad and not think about science.

Right now, he just wants to think about nothing.

After about five minutes, Richie's finally put a stop to his flashbacks enough that he opens his eyes and looks down at his wrist. His tanned skin is red from the numerous times he flicked himself, and he smiles at the sight. He knows after a while those red marks will fade, but for right now, it's wondrous to just look at them and know his mental anguish is real; that what he remembers is real, and it really happened.

That the scars that were reddened by the rubber band are real; that the people who have hurt him actually did hurt him. He sees all of this in the red marks created by the rubber band because, otherwise, he wouldn't be doing it; he wouldn't be flicking himself with a rubber band to stop flashbacks if what he is having flashbacks about didn't actually happen.

At least, that logic makes sense to him.

Sometimes, in heightened states of emotion like this, Richie wonders if his thought processes make sense or not. He knows it makes sense that he flicks himself with a rubber band, given his past, but when he tries to put scientific logic to it, he wonders it makes sense, or if he just sounds like a rambling idiot.

As the red marks begin to fade, Richie looks up and sees Backpack still in his spot. He bites the corner of his bottom lip and bounces his leg. He stares at his lap as he debates whether or not he wants to go to this party. He doesn't want to let Virgil down by saying he doesn't want a relationship, but he also doesn't want to let him down by not going.

Especially because he doesn't know what sort of mental state Virgil is in, given that he knows exactly what type of person he is. Not to mention, he essentially promised him he would go when he talked to Static about the party the other day. Granted, Static doesn't know Richie knows who he is, but he still promised him, and that means he should go.

Richie sighs. "Backpack," he says, and his robot beeps, "why is social stuff so confusing? Why is that, as a super-genius, I don't even know how to properly interact with me? When did I become so damn pathetic?"

Backpack beeps again.

Richie sighs again.

_How could I let my life spin so far out of control?_

**-SS-**

"Yo, Virgil," Shay calls out. "I'm here to help you get the place ready for your party!"

_Oh. Shit._

Virgil goes wide eyed as he looks down at his arm. It's still bleeding, and now he has no way of getting to the bathroom to clean it up, because he can hear Shay coming down the hallway, and he will see the cuts and reprimand him for cutting, and lying to him, when Shay thought he's gone five years without this.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to figure out a way to fix this._

Just as Shay is twisting the doorknob to his bedroom, Virgil quickly gets up and goes to his dresser. He grabs a pair of socks and ties them around his arm. Just as Shay is coming, He shoves his sleeve down and sits back down on the bed. The arm he has cut is pressing the arm with his bigger scar against his chest, and he's doing his best to not seem nervous.

Unfortunately, it's not working very well because, as Virgil's best friend, Shay can see right through it. He always has been able to see right through Virgil's fake emotions.

Shay presses his hands against his hips and raises an eyebrow. "Why do you look nervous?" He narrows his eyes. "And why are you holding your arm? What did you do? What happened?"

Virgil bites his lip and looks down at his lap. "Um…"

_Oh, God, hurry, think of a lie. He's waiting for an answer; think of a lie!_

"I um—"

"Were you scratching yourself again?" Shay interrupts.

_Well…_ _that works._

Virgil bites his lip harder and nods slowly. He's doing his best to come across as remorseful as possible. Given that that's an emotion he's worked on, it's not all that hard.

Shay sighs and rubs his forehead with the pads of his fingers. Coming completely into the room, he sits down on the bed next to Virgil. Virgil scoots over slightly, clutching the implement he used to cut tightly in his hand. He knows it's covered in blood, and the last thing he needs is for Shay to see it.

"Let me see it," Shay says. It is, and always has been, in his nature to take care of Virgil—especially since his mother died. "I can—"

"No, I got it!" Internally, Virgil goes wide-eyed. He shakes his head and stands up. As he talks, he backs up to his bedroom door. "It's not that bad; I promise—I can clean it up myself. I'm just going to go clean it up really quick, and we can get started on the party stuff." He's in the doorway when he adds: "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed about midterms and Richie and—"

"Virgil, seriously," Shay interrupts again, softly, "go take care of your arm." He rolls his eyes with a soft smile. "I don't need an explanation."

Virgil spins around on his heels and hurries to the bathroom. As soon as he locks the door, he slides down it and pulls up his sleeve, removing the socks. He drops the bloodstained socks on the ground as he stares at his arm. With a soft sigh, he lolls his head forward.

Virgil hates lying to people he loves. He hates lying in general, as a matter-of-fact, and he hates that he can't just stop cutting; that he needs it so desperately that he would lie to people he loves about quitting, but continue doing it, anyway. It's almost pathetic, in a way, that Virgil is that much of an addict to self-harm that he resorts to lying.

Before getting up to clean up the cuts, he puts three more.

_How can I honestly want to start a relationship with Richard? Look at me; I'm fucking addicted to self-harm. I'm not even mentally stable enough to have a relationship; all I do is lie to people I love about cutting. God, I am so pathetic._

Make that four more.

When did Virgil's life spin so far out of control?


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, mention of self harm, implied abuse, implied rape, body image issues, homosexuality.

"You okay?"

Virgil sighs as he sits down on the edge of the bed, next to Shay. He holds his newly bandaged arm to his chest and clutches it with his other. He bites his lip and looks down at his lap, guilt continuing to make him sick to the stomach. He wants so bad to tell Shay that, no, he is not okay—that he has a problem and he can't stop it—but he doesn't, because the thought of disappointment in Shay's eyes kills Virgil even more than the guilt he is feeling.

Instead, he lies. Again.

"I'm fine," Virgil says softly, mustering up a smile. "I just… I'm stressed because of this party, and getting a job, and Richie, and Gear finding out I know who he is, and I'm especially stressed out because I don't know how to tell him I like him, especially because he knows my background, and probably wouldn't want to start a relationship with someone as crazy as I am, and…" He trails off before he makes himself want to cut again. He clears his throat and sighs, looking up at Shay. "I just…" He sighs. "I'm fine."

Shay smiles and scoots closer to Virgil. He wraps his best friend in a hug and pulls him close. Virgil clutches his arm tighter; so as to make sure Shay doesn't feel bandages through his clothes. "Look," Shay begins, "you really need to stop stressing." He gently pushes Virgil away so they can see eye-to-eye. "You're a great guy, Virgil. Yeah, you've had your problems in the past, but you're getting better. You might scratch yourself sometimes, but at least you don't cut anymore, right?"

Without hesitation, Virgil nods. He exhales slowly, bites his lip, and nods again.

"See?" Shay says with a smile. He stands up and holds out a hand to Virgil to help him up. "Just because you and I didn't work out doesn't mean you and this guy won't work." He pulls Virgil up so they're standing face-to-face once Virgil gives him his hand. "Besides," he says and puts his hands on his hips, "you and I are a lot better as best friends, anyway. Even if you weren't nuts, we would have broken up eventually. You're better as my brotha than my boyfriend."

Virgil scoffs and laughs, rolling his eyes. "Shay, your Mexican ass next to stop saying 'brotha,' I swear to God." He returns his hand to his arm, but is no longer holding it as tightly against his chest as he was previously.

Shay throws his hands up in defense. "Just trying to make you laugh," he says with a grin.

Virgil rolls his eyes and grins, laughing again. "Well, can you not call me your 'brotha' to do it? It's embarrassing."

"You like it," Shay says as he nudges Virgil's shoulder as he walks past him, heading out of his bedroom to the living room. "Besides," he calls back, "I like you better than my actual brothers, so you should take it as a compliment."

Virgil rolls his eyes and turns on his heels, hurrying after Shay. "Shay, you despise your brothers, and ninety percent of the time you call me nuts. I hardly think any of that is a compliment." He sits down on the couch while Shay continues to stand, looking down at him.

"You know I don't _actually_ think you're crazy," Shay says, crossing his arms as he sits down on the couch. He pulls Virgil into another hug, and this time it's returned. "You know I love you, Virgil."

Virgil smiles and buries his nose against the crook of Shay's neck, almost suffocated by his overuse of cologne. "Yeah… yeah, I know." He pauses and inhales slowly, letting out the breath softly against Shay's neck. He relaxes in his best friend's arms. "I love you, too, Shay."

It's this exact reason—Shay loving him—Virgil can't bring himself to tell his best friend the truth; tell him that he still cuts, because despite the fact Shay is an ass, he still cares, and Virgil knows it, and the last thing he wants to do is disappoint him.

Though, Virgil admits, he sometimes wishes someone knew; wishes that he could tell someone, and wishes someone would stop him. But then again, he also knows that he would go against who ever tried to stop him and do it, anyway, because it's an addiction—a sweet, sweet addiction.

"Come on," Shay finally says and breaks the hug. He stands and makes his way into the kitchen. "Let's get some food ready for the party."

**-SS-**

It's nearly two in the afternoon when Shay and Virgil wake up.

After all the food for the party was prepared and refrigerated, Virgil and Shay retreated to the living room to watch movies. Once midnight hit, Shay got up from the floor and tackled Virgil to it, hugging him tightly and kissing his forehead. From there, he got up and ran to Virgil's bedroom, commandeering his bed as if nothing had previously happened.

That was the reason Virgil awoke on, his living room floor, fully clothed. The last thing he was going to do was go in his room to change and risk Shay seeing his scars, and besides, the two hadn't shared a bed since he and Virgil were sixteen. It was just too awkward now that they were no longer dating.

"Virg," Shay says softly as he kneels down besides his friend. Gently, he nudges his shoulder, shaking him. "Virg, it's two in the afternoon. You need to get up so we can finish getting ready for your party."

Virgil groans and raises his hand to his face, rubbing it. He clears his throat and blinks his eyes a couple times until he is looking at Shay. With a soft sigh, he pushes himself into a sitting position and runs his hands through his dreads to the back of his neck.

"Why am I on the floor?" Virgil asks finally, looking at the area around him.

Shay shrugs. "I jacked your bed." He stands and holds out a hand to Virgil who accepts the help up. "I don't know why you didn't just sleep on the couch, though."

Standing face-to-face with Shay, Virgil answers his question. "Um…" He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Well, after you tackled me and ran off, I realized how comfortable my carpet is, and I just fell asleep." Holding his chin in his hand, he twists his neck, grimacing when it cracks. "Of course," he says and looks back at Shay, "now I realize how stupid that was."

Shay snickers as he pulls his own shoulder-length, black hair into a ponytail. "Well, what do you want to do, birthday boy? I'm skipping all my classes especially for you."

"Oh, don't I feel honored?" Virgil says sarcastically and rolls his eyes.

"You should," Shay says and drops his hands to his sides. "I have three tests today, and I'm skipping them all to celebrate your twentieth birthday with you."

"You're such an idiot, Shay. You know that, right?"

Shay raises his hand and points his finger at Virgil. "But I'm an idiot who cares about you having a good birthday."

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Let's go get coffee. I'm exhausted."

"Fantastic!" Shay exclaims, hurrying to the front door. Virgil follows a couple feet behind him, grabbing his coat off the back of a chair. "I've been craving some Starbucks lately."

Shay stops and turns around to face Virgil, just to make sure he is still following him. He narrows his eyes when he sees Virgil reaching for his jacket. "Why are you putting on a jacket? It's seventy degrees out; it feels fantastic."

"Uh... because I've gone out in public two days in a row in this shirt, and I don't want people to think I only have one shirt?" It's not necessarily a lie; it's just not the whole truth. Virgil honestly just feels more comfortable in more layers. He always has.

"Virgil," Shay says, approaching his friend. He slings an arm around Virgil's shoulder. "If you want to change, then go change. I'm not going to stop you from changing your clothes."

Virgil stiffens in Shay's hold. "Right…" he murmurs. "Um, I'm just…" he gets out of Shay's hold, "I'm just going to go change really quick." He hurries to his bedroom.

Once he is in his room, he shuts and locks the door. Taking his shirt off, he tosses it in a pile of clothes and looks down at his arm. It's still bandaged, and only a little blood as seeped through the white gauze. He sighs as he stares at it; sighs as he holds out his arms and examines how mangled they are, how scared they are.

Clearing his throat, he takes off his pants and boxers and tosses them in the same pile. He examines his thighs as well. They aren't nearly as bad as his arms, but there is still dozens of scars there.

The sight of his body is nauseating, and yet he can't seem to stop.

Shaking his head, he turns his attention to the dresser. He shifts through his clothes until he finds a clean pair of boxers, a pair of dark blue jeans and a thin, cotton, long-sleeved shirt in green. He pairs it with a light grey vest and a pair of black boots. After pulling his hair back, he leaves his bedroom and returns to the kitchen where Shay is waiting.

"Why do you never wear tee-shirts?"

"You can't wear a vest," Virgil says and pinches the fabric, "with a short-sleeved shirt."

Shay rolls his eyes and moves to stand next to Virgil. "Whatever. Let's just go get coffee. I want to get back here and keep getting ready for the party. I'm excited to meet this Richard." He links his arm around Virgil's as they make their way outside.

Nervously, Virgil scratches the back of his neck.

_Yeah. So am I._

Because before falling asleep, Virgil finally figured out whom Richie is.

Richard and Richie is the same person and the reason his voice was so familiar was because Virgil overheard it at the gas station, the night he forgot his ID and had to return to get it. Knowing what Richard—or Richie, he supposes—looks like only makes him more nervous, because he has no idea what he's supposed to think of him.

On the one hand, he's relieved he won't have to guess if he came or not—though now he realizes it probably would have been pretty easy to know, considering he knows everyone else that is coming. On the other hand, though… god damn is his hair ugly. Call it shallow, but Virgil could have sworn he told Richard—or Richie; he probably prefers Richie, but he doesn't want to assume—to get it cut shorter, because stringy blond hair is just plain gross.

Not that he has any right to be picky, considering how desperately he wants to be with Richard. Besides, maybe he did or will get it cut. Virgil did give him twenty dollars for that.

Virgil sighs and shakes his head. His thoughts are jumbled, so he decides to just ignore everything for now until after he gets some coffee. Perhaps, he assume, everything will make more sense when he feels a little more awake.

At least, he hopes so, because he's going to see Richard in less than five hours, and he wants to be able to confess his feelings without stuttering or sounding like an idiot. He wants to sound a lot stronger, and mentally together, than he actually is.

Because maybe Richard is what Virgil needs to actually be that.

-SS-

"Backpack, does this look okay?"

Richie has been standing in front of a mirror for a couple hours now, examining his reflection. He sighs, because he knows it's the best he's going to look, and it's really not all that great. He has huge bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep he has been getting lately, and, even though the outfit is technically new, he's still not sure it looks good enough for the party.

Backpack beeps.

Richie sighs.

Why does he bother asking Backpack questions like this? All he does is beep at the sound of his voice.

"I guess this is as good as it's going to get," Richie says and turns away from the mirror. He makes his way into the bathroom to mess with his hair. He looks in the mirror at his tangled, messy blond hair and sighs. "I hope Virgil like this haircut. I know he wanted me to get it cut, but…" He sighs. He likes his long hair, but he hates making people mad.

_I should have gotten it cut shorter. Virgil is going to hate this._

There was nothing he could do about it now, though.

He sighs and gets his comb wet, running it through his hair to remove the tangles before he styles it in the way his styled showed him.

_I really hope there aren't too many people at this party. I really hope Virgil doesn't want a relationship. God, I hope I don't end up having a flashback._

Richie sighs.

Truth be told, Richie has had a crush on Static for years. He wants nothing more than to have Static as his boyfriend, but with all his trust issues, the last thing he wants to do is let Static in, because he's subconsciously afraid of getting hurt. His life revolves around being afraid of being hurt.

Besides, he's a little more concerned with getting off the streets, and making sure he has food and money than he is with getting a relationship.

That's another reason he could never have a relationship with Virgil—he's homeless. Why would someone who has a place to live, goes to school, and has their shit together, want to be in a relationship with someone who lives on the streets, and has constant flashbacks to rape and abuse?

Richie sighs again.

Yes, he read all about Virgil's mental issues, and the fact he tried to commit suicide, but at least Virgil got help. At least Virgil was probably getting better, while Richie was getting worse, and more mentally unstable, with each day he still lived on the streets.

_This. Fucking. Sucks._


	11. Chapter Eleven

Wow! :O Look guys, a bonus chapter! Two in one day. Crazy!

I really want to thank **penName111** for their continued support throughout this fic. I really really appreciate it!

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied self harm, implied abuse, depiction of rape, homosexual slurs, homosexuality.

Guests start to flood into Virgil's apartment around 6:30, but a majority of the guests don't arrive until closer to 7:15. By eight, everyone, except for Richie, is at the party. At 8:30, Virgil finally decides to serve food, and at 8:45, everyone has plates full of food and is sitting around the television watching movies. A ten, Shay decides to bring out the cake, at which point, the music everyone is dancing to is paused and everyone begins to sing Happy Birthday to Virgil, leaving him in the awkward position of staring at the cake, because he has never figured out what he's supposed to do while being sung this song.

At 10:30, while everyone is watching another movie, Virgil hears someone knocking at the door. Getting up, he makes his way to the door and opens it. Immediately, the first thing he notices is the long blond hair, but he notices it not because he thinks it's ugly, but because it actually looks kind of nice styled the way it is. He looks the man up and down, completely taking in the way he looks—he is wearing a tee-shirt, advertising a band he's never heard of, and a pair of dark blue jeans, along with a pair of nice looking boots. He smiles as he looks back up and makes eye contact.

"I suppose you're Richard."

"And you're Virgil," Richie says, looking down at the ground. "Call me Richie."

Virgil smiles and laughs softly. "I had a feeling you probably preferred that."

Nodding slowly, Richie faintly returns the smile, not that Virgil can really see it. Sniffing, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at them, biting his lip.

"Come on in," Virgil says and stands off to the side. "There's plenty of food left."

_Food?_

Richie looks up, biting his lip as his stomach growls. He sniffs as he takes a step in and looks around, quickly spotting the food spread out on the table. He smiles to himself, biting his lip a little harder, and makes his way to the table where he quickly fills a plate.

Virgil laughs as he comes up behind Richie. "Someone's hungry," he jokes.

Narrowing his eyes, Richie looks down at the plate in his hands and furrows his eyebrows. He sometimes forgets it's rude to eat so much in front of people, but it's been so long since he had homemade food, that he can't quite control himself.

"Sorry," Richie murmurs.

Shaking his head slowly, Virgil squeezes Richie's shoulder, but quickly jerks it back when Richie tenses and tries to get away. Virgil watches with concern as Richie retreats to the corner of the room and sits down with his plate, resting it in his lap.

"Are you okay?"

Richie is looking down at his lap as he speaks. He ignores the question and substitutes it with his own; because he's doing anything and everything he can to not have a flashback right here in Virgil's apartment, so he needs to focus on something, anything else, and talking about whether or not he's okay is not that thing. "How did you find out who I am?"

Marginally, Virgil's eyes go wide. "Um…" He clears his throat and looks down at the floor, scratching his ankle with his heel. "I uh… I overheard you on the phone a couple weeks ago. I heard you introduce yourself as 'Richard Foley.'" He pauses for a brief moment. "How'd you know?" he asks, knowing the question is vague.

"I'm a genius," Richie says bluntly. "I ran a police scan on you, remember? When I met you two weeks ago, I realized you looked and sounded familiar, so I ran another scan, and I found current pictures." He looks back up at Virgil, holding his plate in his hands because his legs are shaking. Already, he knows coming here was a bad idea, because he can feel himself ready to have a panic attack. However, he does his best to hide it. "I figured it out."

For a few moments, Virgil stares at Richie. He watches as his guest nibbles at the plate of food, all the while attempting to hide within himself. In fact, ever since Virgil opened the door for Richie, he could tell that the last place he wanted to be was at this party, but for the life of him, Virgil could not figure out why.

"I, uh…" Virgil chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his neck. "I kind of pictured this meeting going a little… differently."

Richie continues to look down at his lap. He has quit eating, because he's no longer hungry, despite how loudly his stomach is growling. "How were you expecting it to go?" he asks softly.

"Well," Virgil says with a soft laugh as he takes a step toward Richie, "for one, I was sort of expecting it to be a little happier, and, uh, two… I was going to tell you…"

_Oh, God._

"…that I like you and…"

Richie squeezes his eyes shut, and his legs begin to noticeably, violently shake. His plate of food hits the ground as he doubles over in his seat, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck. Gently, he hums a familiar tune to not only drown out Virgil's voice, but also to stop the flashback he knows is about to happen.

_Oh, God, I knew this was going to happen, I—_

"…I was wondering if—" Virgil cuts off when he notices Richie doubled over in his seat. His eyes go wide and he gets down on his knees in front of Richie. "Hey, are you alright?" He gently lays a hand on the back of Richie's head, but is pushed backward when Richie screeches and shoots up.

"I'm sorry," Richie apologizes hastily. He has his arms wrapped tightly around his body as he makes a beeline for the door. "I have to go. I'm sorry. I… I'm so sorry." His last apology echoes in Virgil's ears as Richie completely disappears.

Several moments later, Shay is in the kitchen, helping Virgil off the floor. "What on Earth was that?" he asks when he and Virgil come face-to-face. "Patrick thinks it sounds like there is a dying bird in here. Are you killing birds in here, Virgil?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Virgil ignores Shay's quip as he stares at the door, gently pressing his fingers against his chin. He momentarily wrestles with the notion that he maybe came on too strong, but something tells him that it's more than that; that the reason Richie bolted is something else.

With a soft sigh, Virgil drops his hand and gets down on all fours to clean up the spilled plate. Shay gets down on the ground to help him.

"Did Richie ever come?" Shay asks. During coffee earlier that day, Virgil explained to him that Richie and Richard were the same person and his reasoning for how he knew they were.

Virgil simply nods, keeps his eyes down, and focuses on cleaning the mess.

"Is that who made that screeching noise?"

Again, Virgil nods.

"Why?"

Slowly, Virgil shakes his head. "I don't know…" he murmurs and shrugs lightly. "I guess… I guess I came on too strong. I guess I should have waited to say I like him." He sighs. "I saw that going so much differently in my head."

"How did you see it going?"

Finally, Virgil stops cleaning. He gets on his knees as if he's praying and looks Shay in the eye. He rests his hands on his thighs and sighs. He bites his lips as he does his best to force back tears.

"He didn't run away."

Shay shrugs softly and furrows his eyebrows, smiling sadly. "Go after him, Virgil."

**-SS-**

Halfway down the street, Richie collapses. As quickly as he can, he scoots up against the wall of a nearby alley and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He buries his face into his lap, all the while his body shaking and his breathing heavy from running.

_Francis, let me go! Please, let me go! I don't—_

Richie groans loudly and squeezes his eyes shut. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Please go away. I don't—"

_"You're gonna have sex with me, you little faggot, and you're going to fucking like it. I have fucking had enough of your fucking defiance."_

A loud, pained groan escapes Richie's lips. Tears well in his eyes and slide down his pulls his legs tighter to his chest, wrapping his arms even more securely around them. He is doing everything he can to make his legs stop shaking; everything he can to make the flashback go away.

_Francis, please! We can have sex later, but I just…_

_"No. We can have sex now."_

Richie cries, loudly in pain as he feels himself being thrown against the ground. A surge of pain hits his jaw, and he can feel warm blood pooling beneath his chin.

At this point, Richie is so far gone that, as far as he is momentarily concerned, his flashback is real; his flashback is actually happening. He is completely unaware of his surroundings, and who may or may not be around him. All that matters right now is the pain he's in, and the horror of what's going to happen next.

_"I gave you a chance to say yes, but you didn't want to, so now we do things my way. When I want to have sex, we fucking have sex. I don't fucking care what you want."_

Richie is far too paralyzed by the pain in his jaw to say or do anything to protest. So, instead of trying to get away, he nods obediently.

This is the worst rape flashback Richie has ever had—because being raped by Francis is what haunts Richie the most—it haunts him more so than the abuse his father put him through—and it was triggered by the most innocent of situations. All Virgil wanted was to confess his feelings, and Richie got scared, started to feel claustrophobic, and ran, despite how much he wants to be able to tell Virgil he likes him, too. He wants to be in a relationship with someone he can love and trust, not be in an alleyway having a flashback.

Not that he currently knows it's a flashback, because as far as he is concerned, the pain of Francis shoving his penis inside him, and giving him no time to adjust to the size, and the sensation of warm blood dripping down his thigh, is all too real, and he screams in pain. Immediately, his scream is immediately cut off when Francis pulls his head back by his hair and shoves his face into the ground, causing more blood.

_"Shut the fuck up, you little faggot. You think I like doing this to you? Well, I don't! I'm doing this because it's what little fags like you like, so you better damn well enjoy and appreciate it! I'm doing this for you!"_

How could Richie have honestly let himself believe Francis loved him, or even cared about him by any definition of the word? He knows now that he didn't care, and that Francis only wanted someone to kick around and bully. He now knows Francis only chose Richie because he was an easy target—he was, after all, newly homeless at the time, scared, and looking to trust the first person to come along.

_"Thank me!"_

_Thank… thank you, Francis!_

How humiliating, Francis making Richie thank him for raping him. It's perhaps one of the parts of the rape Richie remembers he most.

Francis shove himself inside Richie deeper, harder, faster. Richie screams in pain again, and continues to scream, until Francis finds his prostate, and Richie groans loudly and thrust back as hard as he can, because that sensation is one of the best he has ever felt.

_"Aw. Did you like that? Did I find someone's special spot? Did you want me to touch that spot again?"_

_Please? Please, Francis, touch it again!_

_"Then admit I was right, and you should have said yes!"_

_Okay, yes, I should have said yes! Please, just hit that spot, Francis! Please!_

Richie's flashback is abruptly cut off when he feels someone gently touch him. With a loud screech, his eyes shoot open and he scrambles away from the man touching him, and he only knows its a man because he sees facial hair through his blurred vision. He keeps his eyes on him, making sure the man stays where he is, as Richie scrambles toward the far end of the alley.

As soon as Richie comes to a stop, he is sweating bullets and his breathing his incredibly heavy. Tears are sliding down his cheeks and he is softly crying. His eyes are widened in terror and his body is shaking. As a learn defense mechanism, he crosses his arms and tightly pulls his legs to his chest.

Finally, Richie figures out who touched him.

Virgil?" Richie manages to say, it coming out stuttered as if he's cold. "What do you want? What are you doing here?" He buries his face into his lap and in a loud sob says, "Please don't hurt me! I'm so, so sorry I ran away from your party! I didn't mean to, I promise!"

Virgil gets to his feet but makes no effort to get closer to Richie. "Richie, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," he says gently.

_He promises._

_A lot of people promise me a lot of things, and look at me now? I'm crying in an alley._

"Can I please come closer to you?"

"No!"

"But, Richie," Virgil says as gently as he can, "you let Static hug you. Why won't you let me near you? We're the same person."

"Because when we hug in uniform, I have Backpack; I trust Backpack to protect me, because I made him! How do I know you won't hurt me? Everyone else does! Everyone else has! I have no reason to believe you won't hurt me! So please don't come near me!" By the time Richie stops talking, he's sobbing.

This was not the first meeting Virgil counted on.

Desperately, Virgil wracks his brain for something to say to prove to Richie he has no plans on hurting him, in any way, shape or form. However, after nearly ten minutes of searching for something reassuring to say, he comes up with nothing. With a small sigh, he bites his lip and just stares at Richie.

Then a light bulb goes on and, all of a sudden, he knows exactly how to prove to Richie he won't hurt him. Slowly, he makes his way to Richie and halts about three feet away because Richie is looking up at him, horror filling his pale grey eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Virgil says again.

Letting out a soft sigh, because this is now or never, Virgil slowly rolls up his sleeve to his shoulder, exposing his mangled flesh and the series of bloodstained gauze bandages there. He can't believe he's about to show his scars to someone he barely knows, but he kneels down in front of Richie and extends his arm so he can see how mangled it is.

Richie furrows his eyebrows, biting his lip gently as he stares at Virgil's arm. He knows exactly what he's looking at, because he remembers catching a glimpse of it the night he and Virgil had pizza, though he thought nothing of it then. He sighs, the sight of the scarred flesh making his stomach churn. However, at the same time, Virgil isn't as together as Richie thought he was and, in a way, that's sort of comforting.

"I don't expect this to faze you," Virgil says, gently pulling his sleeve down. "I just wanted to show you I'm not going hurt you. I hurt myself… I have no reason to hurt you." Not that Virgil would hurt anyone, anyway, but that isn't the point.

Barely above a whisper, Richie says, "You can come closer."

A little trust.

With a soft grunt, Virgil sits down a foot in front of Richie, crossing his legs. He holds his left arm against his chest with his right hand. "I didn't mean to come on so strong before. I just… I really like you, and I—"

"I really like you, too," Richie says, cutting Virgil off. He scoots back against the wall. Virgil doesn't move. "I'm really not the kind of person you want waste your time with, though. You don't understand how broken I am or what I've been through. You don't know who I am or anything about me."

Virgil smiles softly and nods understandingly. He knows all too well about being the kind of person someone shouldn't waste their time on; he knows all about being broken, and going through a life of shit. He knows what it's like to have people not knowing anything about him, not understand who he is.

"Same." Virgil scoots about six inches closer. He wraps his arms around his legs in the same fashion Richie has his body. "Will you tell me what broke you?"


	12. Chapter Twelve

**A/N:** Yesterday (October 14) I went to urgent care for a terrible ear infection. The receptionist had an adorable little boy that reminded me of little!Virgil. I just thought I'd share that with you all. XD And now you know a little about me.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, self harm methods, suicide method, depiction of abuse, implied rape, homophobia, homosexuality.

For what seems like forever, Richie remains quiet.

With his legs pulled to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his legs, Virgil rests his chin on his knees and watches Richie. He watches as a display of emotions flicker through his soft, grey, eyes—it's currently the only part of his face he can currently see. The emotions Virgil sees range from admiration to pain, and just about everything else in between.

"Can I see your other arm?" Richie's voice is muffled as his mouth is pressed against his knees. He lifts his head a little before he continues talking. "I just… I want to see the rest of your scars." Granted, that is true, but Richie also wants to make sure Virgil isn't concealing anything that may be used against him. The last he is going to do is open up to someone who plans hurt. Virgil may be Static, but even wholesome people can have ill-intentions.

Virgil nods. Without hesitation—because it's not like he has anything to hide—Richie already knows—he rolls up his left sleeve and holds out his arm. It's just as mangled as his other, but there is also the vertical scar that sticks out like a sore thumb among the horizontal ones.

"You were trying to kill yourself?" Richie asks, but means it as a statement. He already knows Virgil tried to kill himself, but he phrases it as a question so as to give Virgil something to answer, thus igniting a conversation. "Why?"

With a soft sigh, Virgil pulls back his arm back and yanks down his sleeve. He wraps his arms tighter around his legs. "Yeah," he says with a small nod. "My sister…" He pauses and shakes his head. No, that was not the way to start this story—Virgil's suicide attempt was anything but Sharon's fault. "A year after my mother died, there was this memorial service, and I didn't want to go. Sharon, my sister, called me selfish, and said that the service wasn't for me, and demanded I go. I got mad; I said no one cared about me, about how much I was struggling, so I grabbed a butcher knife and…" He trails off and closes his eyes, holding back tears.

"Your sister stopped you from putting it through your heart," Richie continues for him. "She tried taking the knife away, you two struggled, and you accidentally cut open your arm." Richie sits back far enough to expose the entirety of his face. "Am I right?"

Virgil inhales slowly, and lets it out as he talks. "Yeah," he sighs. "Um… I was taken to the hospital after that, for stitches, and… my sister and dad told the doctor what happened—told them that I tried killing myself—and I was admitted to this psychiatric hospital, where my arm got better."

"But you didn't."

Slowly, Virgil shakes his head. "I pretended I was better, just so I could get out of there, because I hated it. As soon as I got out of the hospital, I… started cutting." Virgil legs go of his legs and holds his stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous. "I did anything and everything to get tools," he says. "I broke old razors, stole pieces of broken glass when cups or plates shattered, found broken aluminum cans on the streets." He sighs. "Um… and after I became Static, everyone thought I quit, and I did for awhile, but only long enough to make people think I quit. I found new tools; new ways of getting tools. I… I made them believe I quit, but I just… I didn't…"

Richie tilts his head to the side, watching Virgil bury his face into his knees. Before his features completely disappear, Richie catches a glimpse of guilt. It takes him a minute to figure the reason for it, but he eventually puts two and two together.

Sometimes, Richie really hates being so damn smart.

"You started taking metal scraps from my inventions?" Richie asks. He doesn't respond when Virgil looks up, horror and confusion in his eyes. Richie shrugs lightly and continues talking, knowing Virgil is looking for an explanation. "I can tell you how old all your scars are, and how you got them," he explains. Slowly he pushes himself a little closer to Virgil and reaches for his arm. When Virgil allows him to take it, Richie rolls up his sleeve. "A lot of these are done by something made of stainless steel—I would know, I've cut myself on stainless steel a lot since becoming Gear," he says. "And I highly doubt you know where to find stainless steel on your own accord."

Tears are sliding down Virgil's cheeks as he buries his face back into his knees. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Richie shrugs and scoots back against the wall. "It's okay." The truth is he doesn't care if Virgil cuts because, honestly, he has his own issues to worry about. The last thing he's concerned about is Virgil, especially because he knows he won't give up the habit until he's ready to. There's no reason to be mad at Virgil for being clever.

Virgil stares at his scars, tears still staining his cheeks. There is a few moments of silence between them, as they both struggle for something to say, and Virgil struggles to cease his tears. There are so many things Richie wants to ask; so many things he wants to know about Virgil before he lets himself open up about his own past.

However, it doesn't seem Virgil is going to say anything more about himself—at least not right now—so Richie decides to say something. He supposes if Virgil trusts him enough to talk about what lead to his cutting, then Richie can at least _pretend_ he trusts Virgil enough to tell him something about himself.

"Okay, um… I'm…" Cool tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes, because this is one of the hardest things has ever tried to do. "I bought these clothes at Goodwill," he begins, deciding it's the easiest way to lead into what he wants to say. "You know, with that twenty you gave me, because I went to this place to get my haircut, and he let me have it for free." He swallows harshly and meets Virgil's gaze. He is expecting Virgil to be pissed about the misuse of the money, but, surprisingly, he doesn't seem to care. Richie sighs and looks back down. Quietly, he says, "I'm homeless."

Virgil's lips part in shock. He furrows his eyebrows and sits up a little straighter, looking down at the ground as he takes in the information. Richie is homeless. Not in a million years would he have expected to hear that, because not in a million years would he have known that, or even began to guess it. If Richie really is homeless—not that he would have a reason to lie about it—he hides it well, because Virgil had no idea.

"How long have you been homeless?"

"Four years."

"You've been homeless since you were fifteen? Why?"

Richie shrugs. "I ran away."

"Why?"

Closing his eyes, Richie furrows his eyebrows as he experiences a flashback to the night he told his father about his sexuality. He tenses, remembering the way his dad threw him against the wall, and relaxes as he recalls hitting the ground. A soft mewl of pain escapes his lips and he rubs his outer thigh, where a series of stitches had to be placed. The night Richie told Sean he was gay, his father broke his femur. It was that night Richie decided to run away.

However, Richie doesn't want to tell Virgil that much information right now—it's enough that Virgil knows he's homeless without also knowing he's been abused and raped. He opens his eyes. "I should probably go. I have to… do… something…" He is standing and backing away from Virgil as he continues to stutter, desperately looking for an excuse. "I have to…"

Virgil turns ninety degrees and looks up at Richie. "Richie," he says softly, "do you want to stay the night with me?" The question stops Richie dead in his tracks, giving Virgil enough time to stand up and approach him. "You don't have to move in or anything—you can leave first in the morning—but I would hate to see you go back out on the streets without a good night's sleep, a shower, and something to eat."

"I…" Richie bites his bottom lip, inhaling sharply. "I don't know… I…"

"You can sleep in my bedroom," Virgil adds. "The door locks."

As much as Richie hates to admit it, sleeping in an actual bed, having something to eat, and taking a shower all sound like the best things in the world right now. He hasn't had a good meal in days, and with the stress of this party, Richie has barely slept. And Richie hasn't taken a shower in a non-public facility in four years.

Finally, Richie slowly nods. "Alright." He bites his lip, desperately hoping this is a decision he won't regret. "Do you _promise_ the door locks?"

Virgil gives a nasally laugh as he holds out his hand to Richie. He smiles as he looks him straight in the eye. "How else would I get away with cutting?"

Richie's heart sink. "You don't live alone?"

"Oh, no, I do," Virgil says with a smile. "It's just that my best friend—his name is Shay—is over enough that I might as well not live alone."

"Will he be there _tonight_?"

Virgil's smile gets a little bigger. He is prepared to do anything to make Richie feel comfortable. Even kick Shay out; despite the fact he was, originally, going to spend the night. "Absolutely not."

His left pointer finger bent, Richie clutches and squeezes it with his right hand. "Um… I… I suppose I could—I suppose I could stay the night." Right now, he is trying as hard as he can to not have a panic attack. As much as he really does want to stay the night with Virgil, he still feels incredibly uncomfortable. "Can I bring Backpack?"

"I don't care. He's your robot." Virgil grins. "You can even bring some of those Zap Caps and water, if you want."

A pain tugs in Richie's chest as he stares at Virgil's hand. He bites his lip, trying to hold back tears which are, this time, not because he feels threatened; this time the tears are because he feels the exact opposite of that, and he's honestly not sure if he should be afraid or not. Virgil is actually suggesting he use his weakness against him.

Richie closes his eyes, sucks in a breath, and finally grabs Virgil's hand.

Richie opens his eyes to find their fingers laced together, but not tightly, because Virgil is giving Richie every possible chance to run. He wants, practically needs, Richie to trust him. Because, if he's being completely honest with himself, he needs Richie a lot more, he's sure, than Richie needs him.

"Now," Virgil says with a smile that Richie can't help but return, "let's go to HQ and get Backpack, shall we? I have nineteen people to throw out of my apartment."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, depiction of self harm, mention of rape homosexuality.

Virgil and Richie got back to the apartment around midnight to find the place empty. On the table was a note from Shay saying he hoped Virgil got what he was after, and he would see him in class in the morning. There was a post script about how Shay knew he was going to stay the night, but decided Virgil probably wanted his apartment to himself.

Well, that was easy enough.

Virgil sighs as he puts the note back on the table and turns to Richie. "Come on," he says and gestures toward the hallway, "I'll show you where everything is."

For the next fifteen minutes, Virgil lays out his apartment for Richie—he shows him where the bathroom, his bedroom, and everything in the kitchen cabinets are. It's about all Richie needs to know, he figures, so he stops there. They're standing in front of Virgil's bedroom when Richie decides he has a question.

"So… no one else is coming over, right?"

Virgil shakes his head, smiling softly. "Nope, no one else is coming over. There's no one here but you and I."

Slowly, Richie nods. "Okay," he says, looking over his shoulder into Virgil's bedroom. He sighs and looks back at Virgil. "I, uh… I think I'm just going to go to sleep," he says and looks down at the stuff in his arms. "I'm tired." Not to mention, he doesn't really want to talk to Virgil anymore, and he's still kind of on edge, being in a new place like this.

With a soft nod, Virgil gestures his head toward the door. "Go ahead," he says with a smile, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "I'm not stopping you."

Richie opens his mouth to say something, but closes it quickly, turns on his heels and disappears into Virgil's bedroom, locking the door behind him. He sighs as he drops everything in front of him and lies down on the bed. He sighs as he stares at the ceiling, biting his lip.

_What am I doing here? Why did I agree to this? I'm better off on the streets. I… oh, man. What was I thinking? Damn it, this is what happens when I let emotions get in the way of things! I should have stood my ground and said no…_

…_but who the fuck am I kidding? I'm too much of a wimp to say no._

Richie sighs and closes his eyes. He spends the next hour or so trying to force himself to fall asleep; despite the fact he's still fully clothed.

In the living room, Virgil slips out of his jeans and shirt, wearing nothing but boxers and an undershirt, and lies down on the couch under a blanket. He sighs and stares at the ceiling, his mind reeling over the fact that Richie is, in fact, in his apartment. This may not have tuned out the way he was hoping, but the fact the guy Virgil has a crush on is sleeping in his bed makes up for the turn of events.

With a soft sigh, Virgil lets his eyes fall shut. Despite waking up at two, he's exhausted—the day was incredibly eventful, and something tells him, tomorrow will only be more so.

**-SS-**

Around ten in the morning, Virgil awakes with a jolt. He frantically looks around the room, his eyes stopping on the clock on the wall. He groans loudly and sinks back into the couch, covering his face with his hands.

"God damn it," he hisses. "I slept through my fucking class!"

For a few moments, Virgil rhythmically hits his head against the armrest as he mentally cusses for being so stupid to sleep through his class. He's already struggling as it is with Physics, and since they just got done with the Midterm, which he nearly failed, they are going to start new, much harder, material.

_God fucking damn it. Now I'm never going to pass that fucking class!_

It doesn't take very long for Virgil to berate himself into stress and tears. It's not hard for Virgil to throw a situation completely out of proportion, and make it seem bigger than it actually is. It's the reason he has ninety percent of his scars.

It's also the reason he's up and digging through his coat pocket for a razor. Virgil always has something to cut with. There is never a moment he doesn't have an instrument within ten feet of him, and that's how it's been for four years. He hides them all well.

Sitting down on the couch, he closes his eyes and cuts without thinking, because thinking would mean rationalizing what he's doing, and he's taught himself not to do that; taught himself to just enjoy the pain and pleasure the blade brings him, without worrying about rationalizing why cutting is the wrong way to go about dealing with his problems.

Besides, if he rationalizes, it only makes him feel worse, and it becomes an endless cycle of rationalizing and feeling terrible for doing it, thus doing it again. It's just easier to not rationalize and only end up with a couple scars, than to rationalize and nearly slice open his arm.

He knows from experience.

When he opens his eyes, he has seven new cuts on his left, outer thigh and four on his left wrist. He wipes the blade on his boxers and lets it fall to the ground. With a content sigh, he leans back and watches the new wounds bleed.

This is the sight he loves the most; the sight he has always loved, and is ninety percent of the reason he still does it. If it weren't for the euphoria of watching blood drip from his wounds, he might actually care to stop.

Virgil closes his eyes and leans back against the seat. He enjoys the sensation of cool blood dripping from his wrist onto his knee.

**-SS-**

Fifteen minutes go by and Virgil is interrupted by the faint sound of someone approaching him. His eyes shoot open and he goes wide eyed when he sees Richie standing beside him. "Shit," he says under his breath and scrambles to get up. He is halfway to the hallway when Richie speaks, softly, stopping him in his tracks.

"I don't know what you're trying to hide," Richie says, approaching Virgil. He disappears into the bathroom momentarily and comes back with a first aid kit he found the previous night, while in the bathroom. "I already know you do it."

Virgil watches as Richie sits down in front of him, cross-legged. "I…" He gulps. "I, um… I didn't…" He trails off because he's too lost in watching pour Hydrogen Peroxide on a gauze pad. He hisses when the gauze meets the wounds on his leg.

"Sorry," Richie murmurs and looks up at Virgil.

Virgil gulps again. "I, uh…" He bites his lip, far too lost in Richie's beautiful grey eyes to think of something coherent to say, so he just shrugs.

When Richie is done clean the wound, he pats them dry and bandages them. He gestures for Virgil to sit down and takes his arm, preparing another gauze pad to repeat the process. The whole process of bandaging Virgil's fresh wounds takes approximately ten minutes—far shorter than it ever took Virgil to do it on his own.

"Feel better?" Richie asks.

Virgil bites his lip and nods. He's not sure if Richie's referring to the fact he just cut, or the fact Richie just bandaged them, but the answer to both of them is yes. He nods again.

"Why'd you do it?" Richie asks casually.

Virgil is quiet for a moment, looking down at his lap. "I slept through my physics class, and I'm not doing well in that class, so I needed to go, but I slept through it… and I panicked." He furrows his eyebrows and bites his lip a little firmer than before. "That's probably stupid."

"Not really."

Surprised, Virgil looks back up. "Really?"

Richie shrugs. "No. What's stupid is why I have flashbacks."

"You have flashbacks?"

"Yes."

"Of what?" Virgil asks gently.

Richie responds without any vocal hesitation. He is looking down at his lap as he talks, though, twisting his fingers with his right hand because he's still nervous; he has no idea how Virgil is going to react to this confession, and part of him doesn't even want to say it, because he's positive Virgil is going to find him just as disgusting as he finds himself. The only reason he's even about to tell Virgil this is because it's what woke him up, and since Virgil trusted him enough to let him clean and bandage his wounds, then Richie supposes he can trust Virgil to know more about his past.

"What is it?" Virgil asks, just as gently as before. "You can tell me."

Richie lets out a shaky breath, curls into himself and scoots away from Virgil until there's three feet between them. Tears are falling down his cheeks as he rocks himself, trying to stop more flashbacks as he says: "I was raped."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Mention of rape, implied abuse, homosexuality.

Virgil stares at Richie, unsure what to say. Never in his life has he met someone who admitted to being raped, so he never learned what to say to someone who did. Gently, he bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably so he can cross his legs. Looking down, he fumbles with his fingers as he searches desperately for something to say, squeezing his eyes shut. There has to be something supportive he can say; something to let Richie know his sympathy.

Finally, he sighs and opens his eyes to see Richie staring at him. The thing of it is, though, Richie doesn't seem mad that it's taking Virgil so long to respond. He doesn't look happy, but that's probably just because he admitted to being raped.

"I'm sorry," Virgil says finally. He shifts again and scoots a little closer to Richie, leaning against the wall beside him. "How often do you have flashbacks?"

Richie shrugs. "Well… it depends how stressed I am, I guess." Richie clears his throat and sighs. "Um… to be honest, after I met you two weeks ago, I was having flashbacks just about every night." He gestures toward the bedroom door, glancing over his shoulder. "It's why I woke up," he says and looks back at Virgil. "Err, the more stressed I am, the worse the flashback."

"How bad was it just now?"

"Worse I've ever had." Richie looks back down at his lap. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Virgil raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. "Why?"

"Being in your apartment stresses me out." Richie pauses and looks up, fully expecting Virgil to be mad about the comment, but he seems understanding. He supposes, if only for a moment, if anyone is going to understand stress, it would be Virgil. "It's not you, I just—"

"Hey," Virgil says gently, cutting Richie off. He gently touches Richie's shoulder, biting his lip when he flinches away. He waits a few moments before touching him again. He doesn't flinch away the second time. "Don't worry," he says, "I get it. I know what it's like to be stressed out about my surroundings. Trust me."

"Oh?" Richie asks and looks down at his lap. "When was the last time you were?"

"About three days ago," Virgil says. "I went to Shay's apartment for the afternoon, and he had a bunch of people I didn't know over. I was wearing this long-sleeved shirt with these big sleeves, and every time someone came near me, I would freak out and think they would accidentally brush up my sleeve." He tilts his head to look Richie in the eye. "You're the first person to ever see my scars post become Static."

It takes Richie a moment, but the comment makes him look up at Virgil. He forces a small smile as he nods. "Yeah," he says just above a whisper, "you're the first person to know I've been raped." He pauses and bites his lip. "Well," he says and clears his throat, "except Francis."

Immediately, Virgil goes wide-eyed. "Francis?!" he says, immediately regretting his tone because of how badly it startles Richie. He mentally kicks himself as he watches Richie scoot away. "No," he says much softer, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to shout like that." His shoulders slouch and he sighs. "I just… I didn't… I didn't know your ex was Hotstreak."

Richie shrugs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and pulling his legs to his chest. "I never told you." He rests his chin on his knee as he leans back against the wall. "I didn't want you to be pissed because I was in a relationship with one of our enemies."

Tilting his head to the side, Virgil furrows his eyebrows. "Why would I be pissed about that?" he asks, genuine confusion his tone. "Besides," he says and rests his eyebrows, giving an airy laugh through his nose, "I hardly call that a relationship—he raped you. A relationship should be about trust and love, not abuse."

This time Richie genuinely laughs, but it's bitter and cold. "Virgil, my life is about people abusing and not loving me," he says, his voice cracking. He bites his lip until its turning red and lets his tears drip down his cheeks onto his pants. "I have never met anyone who genuinely loves me. Everyone just—"

"I love you."

Richie furrows his eyebrows and narrows his eyes at the ground. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. He snorts a laugh and shakes his head. "No you don't. There's nothing about me to love, Virgil. Besides, you barely even know me. How can you say you love me?"

"I'd say I know you," Virgil says and scoots closer to Richie so he is sitting beside him. He pulls his own legs to his chest and holds them with his hands. "First of all, I know you're ridiculously handsome. I know you're incredibly smart and very witty and you have a great sense of humor. I know you're painfully sarcastic and extremely dedicated to everything you do. I know you have an adorable laugh, and beautiful eyes. I know you're broken." He furrows his eyebrows gently when Richie finally lifts his head to look at him. "Trust me," Virgil says and gently touches Richie's cheek, thankful he doesn't flinch away, "I know you."

For a few moments, Richie just stares at Virgil. The tears from before have ceased his eyes are wide. He looks back and forth at each of Virgil's beautiful brown eyes, and takes in each and every sight he sees—from the actual anatomy of his eyes to the emotions and history they hold. It makes Richie's stomach do flips and he gulps in an attempt to cease the butterflies he feels. Finally, he closes his eyes and lets himself lean into Virgil's hand.

"I…" Richie beings but trails off when his voice gets caught. He clears it and tries again. "I just don't want to get hurt again, Virgil. I…" He inhales sharply and lets out the breath shakily. "I can't handle that again."

"Richie," Virgil says and lifts his head gently. Richie opens his eyes halfway and Virgil smiles. "I would never hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you." He pauses for a moment and looks back and forth between Richie's eyes. "Do you believe me?"

That was the scariest part.

He did.

"I…" Richie clears his throat. "I, um… Can I…?"

"Can you what, Richie?"

"Can I stay here again?"

Virgil smiles and laughs airily through his nose. He nods and pulls Richie into a hug which is returned with a fierceness that makes Virgil melt. He holds Richie even tighter than he is holding him, and he swears he hears Richie let go and begin to sob.

"Of course you can, Richie… Of course you can."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary**: AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings**: Homelessness, self-harm, implied rape, implied abuse, homosexuality.

One week passes and Richie is still staying and Virgil's apartment. It has also been that long since Virgil saw Shay, but as the lack of his best friend is what makes Richie feel the most comfortable, it's what Virgil does for him. Sure, Virgil misses his best friend, but as it's between not seeing his best friend for a couple weeks and losing the man he desperately loves, Virgil is positive he's made the right decision. Besides, he does still text Shay, so it's not like he's cut off all communication.

It's about 7:30 in the evening when Richie walks into the living room and sits down on the other end of the couch. There are very select moments when Richie feels like being touchy-feely with Virgil, and when he sits down on the other end of the couch is not one of those times. As a matter of fact, in the last week, the only time they've really embraced is the night Richie asked if he could stay again.

"Can I talk to you, Virgil?"

Sniffing softly, Virgil mutes the television and shifts in his seat. He is sitting cross-legged with his back against the armrest. "Of course you can, Richie," he says. "What's up?"

Richie sighs. "Um… well, I've been thinking about some things…" He bites the inside of his lip and twists them as he thinks, considering a way to properly phrase what he wants to say. "I, um…" He clears his throat. "I…" He sighs again and looks down at his lap, clasping his hands. "Never mind," he says softly.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Virgil scoots a little closer to Richie. He's just close enough to reach out a hand and touch his shoulder, but Richie shrugs it off. Virgil's shoulders droop and he scoots back to his original spot. "Richie," he says gently, "what is it?"

Richie shakes his head. "I was just going to ask you something, but… I don't know…"

"You know you can ask me anything."

Richie squeezes his eyes shut and runs his fingers through his hair. He scratches his scalp as he debates if he wants to voice his question or not. He knows he should just man up and ask, but he's afraid. Virgil doesn't know everything about him yet, and he's afraid if he asks what he wants to before spilling everything about his past, he'll risk what he wants to ask being for absolutely nothing.

Tears sting the corners of his eyes, streaming down his face; despite the fact his eyes are closed.

"Richie," Virgil says gently, but he doesn't move, "honey, what's wrong? Please tell me." His voice is quivering, because he honestly has no idea what to do.

"I want a job." It's completely opposite of what he wanted to say, but it's what he ended up spitting out. "I want a job that pays money. I want…" He clears his throat the best he can, but it doesn't stop the fact his voice is teary. "I, uh…"

"Richie, if you want a job, get one. I can help—"

Richie shakes his head. "I can't, though."

"Why not?"

"I…" Richie sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "I… I didn't graduate high school. I ran away and dropped out of school. I…" He sniffs. "It was really stupid, but… I… I don't know. I kept being told I wasn't smart enough, and I wouldn't amount to anything, so I dropped out when I ran away.

No one would want to hire a nineteen-year-old high school dropout, anyway."

Virgil clears his throat. He takes a moment to think, but he knows exactly what he wants to say. "Why don't you talk to my Pops? He's a counselor. It, uh… it sounds like you could benefit from it. He talks to a lot of homeless people; helps them get back on their feet." He shrugs. "It might help."

Richie furrows his eyebrows and looks at Virgil. "But he doesn't even know about me. Won't he be pissed you have a homeless kid living with you? You did say your dad was giving you money for food, so won't he be mad that you've been feeding me… or… I…"

Shaking his head, Virgil scoots closer to Richie again, but doesn't touch him. He laughs softly. "Richie, my dad isn't going to be mad you're living with me." He shrugs with a small grin on his lips. "Besides, I have to tell him about you eventually, don't I?"

Richie shrugs lightly and looks down. "I uh… I guess…" He furrows his eyebrows a little tighter and narrows his eyes. "I guess, uh… I guess he should probably know you have a boyfriend… or something…" He looks back up at Virgil, letting his features relax. He bites his lips, nerves taking over, because he basically just assumed Virgil was his boyfriend. It'll take longer than a week, for sure, for Richie to believe he's not always wrong, and people won't always get pissed at him.

Fortunately, that's not what happens.

"Did you just say, 'Boyfriend'?" Virgil's jaw drops slightly and his eye widen. "I… uh… uh…" He clears his throat, laughing nervously. "You… you want to be my boyfriend?"

Richie looks down at his lap, fiddling with his fingernails. "I just… I kind of assumed that's what I was… seeing as I'm pretty much living here, and you said you love me, and I like you, and…" He furrows his eyebrows. "That's what people do, right?"

Virgil covers his face with his hands to force back the fact he wants to laugh. Not because Richie is wrong, but because he's adorable. Virgil swears he can feel his heart swelling a million times its normal size at this exact moment.

"Yes," Virgil says, no longer able to hold back his laughter. "That… yes, that would be what some people in situations like this." He buries his face back in his hands, this time to hide the fact that he is laughing.

Richie looks up, confused. "Why are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry," Virgil says through his hands, "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because I'm nervous, and excited, and happy, and…" He trails off and drops his hands. The look of confusion on Richie's face isn't helping, and he ends up laughing again. It's not often he sees Richie, his super-genius boyfriend, confused, and it's cute. "Yes… I…" He pauses and clears his throat to stop his laughing. "I, um… I don't know what I'm trying to say. Um… can I introduce you to my Pops? Like I said, he might be able to help you."

"When?"

"Depends," Virgil says after a moment's consideration, "do you want to meet my sister and brother-in-law, too?"

Richie shrugs. "I guess so."

"Well, then, uh… how about this weekend? Sharon and Adam will be there this weekend, so we can go over there for dinner then. Does that sound good?"

Richie shrugs again. "I guess so." He clears his throat and looks back down at his lap, clasping his hands so he can fiddle with his fingers. "Um… but… do I have to talk to your dad? Can't I do that some other time? I don't… I don't want… I don't want the spotlight all on me."

Clearing his throat, Virgil sighs and stares at Richie. Although he supposes Richie doesn't need to talk to his father, he would really like him, too. If Richie wants to be happy, he's going to need help getting back of his feet, as well as therapy. He sighs, furrows his eyebrows, and looks down at his own lap, realizing how hypocritical that seems—Richie's absolutely not the only one in the room who needs therapy.

"What if I tell my dad I never quit cutting?" Virgil's voice is on the verge of cracking. "What if I show him my arms?" He looks up at Richie who is now looking at him. Absently he rubs his arms, squeezing one of the fresher wounds for an ounce of pain—just thinking of talking to his dad is making him want to cut, but for Richie, he's prepared to do anything. "Will you talk to my dad if I do?"

For a moment, Richie stares at Virgil. He looks between his eyes and his arm, where he's squeezing. It's not hard for Richie to figure out what he's doing, and it makes his heart drop into his stomach, because he realizes how serious Virgil is about this offer. And, truth be told, there's nothing Richie wants more than to see Virgil better.

Scooting closer to Virgil, Richie hesitates only momentarily before leaning in and pressing his lips against Virgil's. For a few moments, neither of them do anything; neither of them react. However, before Richie has a chance to pull away, Virgil grabs his sides and pulls him down on top of him. He returns the kiss as Richie tilts his head to the side so their noses don't get in the way. Virgil keeps one hand on Richie's waist and tangles on hand in his long, blond hair, suddenly extremely thankful Richie didn't get it all cut off.

After about a minute, Richie finally pulls away, but doesn't get off Virgil. "I'm not ready for sex," he says. Even though that probably isn't where it is headed, he has to make sure Virgil knows it.

Virgil practically grins. "That's okay."

"You really will talk to your dad about your cutting?"

Although Virgil's smile fades, it is still there. He nods. "For you, I'll do anything. I love you, Richie." He'll say it until he's blue in the face, too, because he knows how desperately Richie needs to hear it, especially from someone who means it.

Richie smiles and nods faintly. He wants so much to say it back, but instead of saying anything, he leans back in and locks their lips. This time the kiss goes a lot smoother than the first.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A/N**: The positive feedback of the last chapter really made me smile, you guys. I am so happy you all liked it! I really hope you all like this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Homelessness, implied self-harm, abuse, implied rape, homosexual slurs, homosexuality.

"I'm not sure about this, Virgil."

Halfway between Virgil's apartment and Shay's apartment, Richie stops in his tracks and makes Virgil, who has ahold of his hand, also stop. Richie lets go of Virgil's hand and takes a step back, as if he is preparing himself to make a run for it. Even though he agreed earlier that day he would meet Shay, being on their way there has his anxiety and stress on the rise.

As much as Richie really wants to meet Shay, new people still scare him. He's not entirely sure how long it'll take before he feels comfortable around new people, or even feels comfortable with the idea of new people, but that day is certainly not today.

"Do I really have to go?" Richie asks as he stands up against a lamppost. He wraps his arms around it and locks his hands behind his back. "Do we really have to go to his apartment? Can't we just, I don't know, meet at a restaurant or something? There're more people at places like that."

With a soft smile, Virgil approaches Richie. Reaching behind him, Virgil grabs Richie's arms and puts them his own waist. Virgil puts his hands on Richie's. He smiles a little wider when Richie relaxes in his hold, taking a step closer.

"Well, this has been planned since we got together, which I guess is only three days, but still, it's been planned," Virgil reminds Richie. "And Shay would love to meet you." He pauses for a moment, considering an alternative to their plan that still involves Shay and Richie meeting. He snaps his fingers when he has an idea. "Would it make you feel more comfortable if we met him somewhere else?"

Richie just nods, biting his lower lip.

With a soft laugh, Virgil grins. "I'll call him and tell him to meet us at Burger Fool, then, okay?" He takes one hand off Richie's waist and grabs his phone from his back pocket. "Does that sound okay?"

Richie nods again. "I am kind of hungry."

"But we just ate!"

Richie shrugs with a small grin across his lips, partially because he's proud he knows Virgil was joking around with his tone of voice. Slowly but surely, he's becoming more comfortable with Virgil.

"I like food."

"Clearly," Virgil says and laughs. "Alright—I'll buy you something to eat." Shaking his head, he laughs as he calls Shay. "You're a piece of work," he mutters as he puts the phone to his ear, grinning the whole time it rings.

Again, Richie shrugs while grinning.

**-SS-**

"So you're Gear," Shay says and leans forward, resting his chin in his palms. "Do you know how many times I've fallen asleep thinking about your voice? It's so sexy."

Unsure how to respond, Richie furrows his eyebrows and sits up straight. He looks at Virgil, the same adorable confusion flickering in his eyes. As smart as Richie is, one thing purple gas can't ever teach is people skills.

"What do I say, Virgil?"

"Oh, don't mind Shay," Virgil says to Richie, but rolls his eyes at Shay. "He's just being himself." He turns and looks across the table at Shay. "Shay, for fuck's sake, will you stop hitting on my boyfriend?"

Shay sits up, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm just saying: I would not mind if Gear had to save me from a burning building or something. 'You're alright now, sir,'" Shay says in his best imitation of Richie's voice. He shrugs. "You can't say you would mind that, Virg."

Virgil's cheeks burn red as he buries his face in his hands. Muffled, he says, "Shay, I will kick your ass, I swear to God. Shut up." He sinks into the seat because he knows Richie is staring at him. In fact, he knows both of them are staring at him.

Richie furrows his eyebrows and looks between Virgil and Shay. "Is my voice something you two talk about frequently?"

"No," Virgil says.

"Yes," Shay says, waggling his eyebrows when Virgil groans and sinks down in the seat further. He looks toward Richie. "Virgil would talk about your voice all the time. He had the biggest crush ever on you, especially after he found out your name."

Virgil groans again. His arms are not completely covering his face and he's sunk down as far into the seat as he can. Perhaps, he's beginning to realize, introducing Richie to Shay is not the best idea he has ever had. He should have known Shay would attempt to say every single embarrassing thing he could think of, just to see if Richie was determined to stick around or not. They did this to each other all the time.

"Um…" Richie's cheeks flare a deep red. "I… I'm flattered. I think…?" He clears his throat. "I had a crush on Virgil, too… Um…" He trails off and shrugs, unsure of what else to say.

"So you know he's crazy?"

"Crazy?" Richie furrows his eyebrows. He knows Virgil self-harms, and he knows he hasn't had the brightest past ever, but the last thing Richie would consider Virgil is crazy. There's obviously some definition of the word he's missing; what friend would describe their friend as crazy? "What do you mean he's crazy?"

"Like… crazy…" Shay says and shrugs. "He's been to a psych ward. You know that, right?"

"Shay," Virgil hisses, "you _know for a fact _he knows that." Finally he sits back up and clutches the edge of the table, leaning forward. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't talk about that in public. The whole city of Dakota doesn't need to know I'm nuts."

Shay raises is hands in defense and sits back. "Okay, okay," he says. "Calm down, Virg, I'm sorry." He sighs, knowing he crossed the line with that one. He didn't mean for it to come across as offensive to Virgil; he genuinely wanted to know if Richie knew about Virgil's past. He was simply asking to protect Virgil. Unfortunately, it came across as offensive. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Virgil sighs and releases the table. He leans back and crosses his arms loosely over his chest. "It's fine," he says. "I know why you were asking, but I'd like you to remember we're not at your apartment this time; you can't just ask whatever you want."

"Why aren't we at my apartment, anyway?" Shay asks, leaning forward. He crosses his arms on the table. "We always meet at my apartment when you have a new boyfriend. What gives? Why the sudden change in plans?"

"I—" Virgil begins, desperate for a lie, but Richie cuts him off.

"Because I felt more comfortable meeting somewhere public," Richie says, immediately awarded with stares from Shay and Virgil. He clears his throat and scoots into the corner of the booth in an attempt to get a little further away. "I, um…" He shrugs. "Sorry for breaking a tradition."

Shay shrugs. "Eh, it's cool. I was craving a hamburger anyway, so this is perfect." He sighs heavily and clears his throat. "I was just curious, is all."

Richie relaxes and scoots back toward Virgil.

"So, tell me about yourself, Richie," Shay finally says.

Richie stiffens, biting his lip as he glances nervously at Virgil. It takes all Virgil has to not kick Shay under the table, because in reality, how is he supposed to know this is such a hard question for Richie to answer. Instead, he rests a hand on Richie's knee and gently massages it, silently reassuring him it's alright to say and not say whatever he wants.

"Um…" Richie sighs as he thinks of something to say. He shrugs. "I'm a super-genius; I spend all my time inventing. There, uh… there's really not much time left in the day for me to do much else." In four years of working with Virgil, Richie's become good at lying.

Shay waves off the comment. "No, no, tell me about your past, your childhood. Tell me the kind of things you liked to do, all that stuff. I want to know who you are."

"Oh," Richie says softly and looks down at his lap. "Um… I didn't really have that great of a childhood, to be honest. I mean, I have some good memories from times my dad was out on a business trip or something, and it was just me and my mom, but… overall, my childhood wasn't really all that great."

Neither Virgil nor Shay says anything. They're both intelligent enough to know exactly why Richie had a better time when he dad wasn't around and neither of them are going to ask questions about it; the last thing either of them want to do is bring up bad memories.

"Are you in college?" Shay asks, changing the subject.

"No." Richie diverts his attention back to Shay, glancing up without moving his head. "I never graduated high school. I left home when I was fifteen, and dropped out. So, no, I'm not in college." He sighs and looks back down at his lap. "You must think I'm weird," he mutters.

_Great. The impression he has off me is that I'm an ass. That's perfect._

Shay shakes his head. "No. I don't think you're weird. I think it's brave of you to leave home when you were in such a terrible environment. Besides, who care if you never graduated high school? You're a genius. Invent something, paten it, and make money." He shrugs and laughs through his nose. "That's what I'd do if I were a genius. I'd quit school and paten something for money."

_My God… Why did I never think of that?_

Richie rolls his eyes at himself and smiles at Shay. "I can look into that."

"Good. I'm sure you have a lot of cool stuff," Shay says. With a sigh, he changes the subject. "So… do you have any ex-boyfriends?"

"Uh… I have one." Richie sighs. "I dated Francis—err, Hotstreak—for a while."

"Really?" Shay asks, his eyes widened with surprise. "I wouldn't've expected him the type that likes guys."

Richie shakes his head. "He doesn't."

"Then why did you date him?"

"I'd just run away from home and needed somewhere to go, someone to trust. He told me he would give me that; told me I could trust him."

Shay furrows his eyebrows. Getting up from his seat, he walks around the booth and shoos Virgil. He sits down next to Richie and, without any warning, wraps him in a hug. At first it startles Richie, and he tries to get away, but when he realizes Shay isn't going to try and hurt him, but rather is trying to be comforting, he relaxes somewhat and rests his arms on Shay's back, returning the hug.

"Shay," Virgil says, "what are you doing?" He puts his hand on his hip as he stands beside the table, staring at his best friend and boyfriend, bewildered by the scene. He had honestly expected it to go a lot more horribly.

"I'm hugging Richie," Shay says. "This poor boy needs a hug. He's had such a shitty past." He turns his dialogue to Richie and says, "I am so sorry you've had such a crappy past Richie, but I'm positive Virgil will help make it better. He's had a crappy past, too, and look how far he's come. He even quit cutting. You can overcome your past, too."

Richie tenses, looking down at Shay and then glancing up at Virgil. He notices quickly how uncomfortable Virgil is, and in fact, Richie is somewhat uncomfortable for Virgil, because they both know that isn't the case; they both know Virgil hasn't stopped, and the last time he cut, as a matter-of-fact, was just the night before because he was stressed about an upcoming test.

"Um…" Richie bites his lip and finally pushes Shay away. He smiles. "Thanks."

**-SS-**

Three hours past when Shay finally decides he has to get back to his place. He bids farewell to Virgil and Richie, leaving the burger joint. When he is completely out of sight, Virgil and Richie turn back to one another and Richie smiles.

"You okay?"

Virgil nods. "Yeah," he says with a soft smile. "I'm used to everyone assuming I quit cutting. I mean, it hurts when they say how proud they are, but…" He shrugs. "I'm used to it." He clears his throat and sighs. "I'm sorry Shay is so… touchy-feely."

"Eh," Richie says with a shrug. "It's alright, I guess. I just hope he doesn't do that again, because that was the most awkward hug ever. Not even just because I hate physical contact, but because he's your friend. I… I kind of felt like I was cheating on you or something, what with the way he was touching me."

"How was he touching you?" Virgil asks with concern in his tone. "He didn't—?"

"No, no," Richie says and raises his hand, waving it slightly from side to side. "No, it was just a hug. He didn't… there were no… it wasn't bad."

"Oh," Virgil says and lets out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good."

There's a moment of silence.

"Are you ready to go?"

Richie smiles softly and nods. "Yeah, I'm getting kind of tired, anyway," he says and glances down at his watch. "…Even if it is only two o'clock."

Virgil laughs and stands up, offering a hand to Richie. Hand-in-hand, they make their way out of the Burger Fool. For several miles, Virgil and Richie talk casually about things like school, groceries, and Richie's latest invention. They aren't the most thrilling conversations, but walking together wasn't the time for engaging conversations; it was the time to just talk, about anything and everything.

Just as they're nearing Virgil's apartment, Richie comes to a halt in a similar fashion as he did on the way to the restaurant. His sudden stop makes Virgil come to a halt and he nearly falls backward. When he catches his balance, he turns to Richie, his back facing away from what Richie is looking at, and raises an eyebrow, noticing quickly how terrified Richie looks.

"Richie," Virgil said, obvious concern cracking his tone, "honey, what is it? What's wrong? What are you looking at?"

Richie doesn't say anything. Instead he takes a step back and raises a finger, squeezing his eyes shut as if it'll make him disappear, because right now he honestly wishes it would. The last place he wants to be right now is here.

"Well, well, well," says a gruff tied together with a laugh, "look what we have here."

Immediately, Virgil spins around at the sound of the voice, face-to-face with Francis. He takes a step back, so as to not be so close, and gulps. Truth be told, outside of his costume, Virgil is just as afraid of Francis as Richie is. Granted, Francis never hurt him the way he hurt Richie, but that doesn't mean he isn't still afraid of him.

Francis snorts. "Hawkins got himself another little boyfriend," he says and looks Richie up and down, a grin growing across his lips, making his fiery red eyes even more so. It makes Richie cower more so behind Virgil, and Francis laughs. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

"Francis, back off him," Virgil warns. He takes a step forward, all the time protecting Richie. "Richie doesn't want anything to do with you."

"Oh yeah?" Francis pushes Virgil aside with ease, approaching Richie, who immediately cowers even more so. It is nearly to the point he is on the ground, huddling with his legs to his chest. First and foremost, Richie wants to protect anything Francis can hurt. Francis just laughs at the sight. "Is that true? Do you not want anything to do with me? After all I did for you?"

"All you did for him?" Virgil says from his spot about a foot away from Richie and Francis. "You hurt him, you jackass!"

"Shut it, Hawkins!" Francis yells and turns to Virgil, throwing a fireball that he dodges thanks to years of practice. He does it again and this time the fire singes his pants. "I ain't talking to you, Hawkins, now butt out!" Virgil goes quiet and leans against a lamppost.

Rolling his eyes, Francis turns his attention back to Richie. "Now, go ahead," he says and kneels, grabbing Richie's chin to jerk his head up, "tell me you want nothing to do with me. Tell me you want nothing to do with me after all I did for you. Make my fucking day, you little fag."

Richie looks up at Francis, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Just then, something amazing happens.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Fandom:** Static Shock  
**Pairing/Characters:** Virgil/Static, Richie/Gear  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Implied self-harm, fighting, rape, homosexuality.

The longer Richie takes to respond to Francis, the harder Francis grips Richie's chin. It is almost to the point that Francis is about to break his jaw before Richie finally reacts, the tears rolling down his cheeks coming to a sudden and abrupt stop.

Richie is absolutely done being afraid of Francis.

Francis' fatal flaw is having his groin so exposed. In a swift motion, Richie grabs Francis' wrist and twists it, yanking it from his jaw. Before Francis has any real chance to respond, Richie uses his free knee to hit Francis square in the groin. The sudden blow causes Francis to fall backward and grab his crotch. While he's groaning in a fetal position, Richie gets up and steps over Francis, crouching over him.

"I am so sick of your shit," Richie says, gripping Francis' throat. He knows this is far from something a hero would do, but this matter is personal. When things get personal, they get ugly. Not to mention, the fear in Francis' eyes is feeding Richie's rage; making him want to continue, because finally he has power. "I am so sick of living with constant flashbacks, constant fear of everyone, because of you, because you fucking hurt me. You took advantage of me when I was in a desperate situation, and I am so tired of living with the memories of that. You did absolutely nothing for me, and I don't owe you gratitude for fucking anything. Not only do I want nothing to do with you, but you are _lucky as_ _fuck_ I am not going to just kill you _right now_."

Truth be known, Richie has no idea where he's getting this sudden bout of bravery, but he can't honestly say he minds it.

Still standing by the lamppost, Virgil's eyes widen as he watches the scene unfold. Unsure of who to watch, he looks between Richie, who is standing directly over Francis with bloodlust filling his eyes, making the pale grey nearly black. Then there is Francis, who is show obvious signs of fear, an emotion Virgil never thought he would see from Francis. Although he wants to step in and say or do something, he's almost afraid of Richie at this point, so he stays where he is, just watching; deciding that stepping is the farthest thing from a good idea.

"Do you know how many times I've had flashbacks? Do you know how many times I've _nearly _had flashbacks?" Richie tightens his grip on Francis' neck and crouches down a little further. Francis' eyes start to bulge, and periodically Richie lightens his grip if only because he doesn't want to deal with murder charges. "Hundreds—I have had hundreds of flashbacks about the numerous ways you took advantage of me. Remember the time your little buddy raped me, and you just stood there laughing?" He knees Francis in the groin, inadvertently making his grip on his neck tighten when he lets out a loud puff of air. At the same time, Richie says, "I have flashbacks of that!"

"Foley, I'm sorry," Francis says; his voice distorted as he strains to talk. "I—I'm sorry, okay?"

"No, you're not!" Now Richie was really set off, because if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was fake apologies. "You just don't want me to fucking kill you!" He leans in closer, his face mere inches from Francis'. When Francis starts to struggle, kicking his legs, Richie manages to kick him in the shin. "I'm not going to kill you. I want you to live, and watch me get better. I want you to live, and I want you to get married and have children, and I want you to have to explain to your wife how you raped someone. How you took advantage of someone who just needed a safe place to stay. I want you to live, so one day you can feel guilty for how you hurt me." Glaring, Richie finally lets go of Francis' neck and stands, taking a step back and looking down at him. "Then, and only then, will you understand how much you really hurt me, and I want you to be alive to feel it. I want you to be alive to live with that shame, because that's sweeter than killing you."

Before Richie turns away, he kicks Francis square in the ribcage, if only for good measures, and watches as he groans, the wind literally being knocked out of him. Shaking his head, he turns away from Francis and heads toward Virgil. By the time he approaches his boyfriend, he is much calmer, and there's even a smile across his lips.

Virgil steps away from the lamppost, grinning, and wraps Richie tightly in his arms. "_That_ was impressive," he says, his breath warm against Richie's ear. "I am so proud of you, Richie, but what on Earth made you do that?"

Shrugging, Richie returns the hug with the same intensity it is being given to him. "I guess I just decided I was done living in fear of him, and that now was the best time as any to tell him that fact," he says as he rests his chin on Virgil's shoulder. He inhales, letting in out slowly. "Besides, no one tells someone I love what to do."

Virgil lets out an airy laugh, tears forming and sliding down his cheeks. He closes his eyes as he buries his nose against Richie's neck. "I love you, too, Richie." He laughs airily again. "I love you, too." As always, he'll say it until he's blue in the face.

About ten minutes pass before their hug finally breaks. The both of them turn around to discover Francis is no longer on the ground. Richie grins, knowing full well he slipped away before Richie had a chance to release anymore rage. For the best, Richie decides, because that's the last time Richie ever wants to see Francis' face, outside of costume.

And, oh, Richie cannot wait to confront him while in costume. He has every intention to be as much of an asshole as he just was, because the last thing he is is done with Francis.

"You know," Richie finally says and grabs Virgil's hand, "I'm surprised I didn't have a flashback. I thought for sure I would…"

Virgil smiles and shrugs lightly. "I guess you finally hit rock bottom," he says as he steers them both in the opposite direction of his apartment. "I guess you finally decided enough is enough, and that's why you didn't have a flashback." He shrugs again. "Either way, I'm proud of you for confronting him like that."

"Thanks," Richie says. Furrowing his eyebrows with confusion, he adds: "Where are we going, though? This isn't the way to your apartment…"

Virgil shakes his head, biting his bottom lip. "We aren't going to my apartment."

"Then where are we going?"

"My dad's place," Virgil says, biting his lip harder and gripping Richie's hands. "We're…" He clears his throat. "I mean… I'm going to tell my dad I never quit cutting." He forces a smile and looks down at the ground as they walk, adding: "You faced Francis, so I can face my dad… I can face my dad."

Richie smiles. Saying nothing, he wraps an arm around Virgil's shoulder, pulling him to his side as they make their way down the street. It may be sooner than Virgil planned, but he has the nerve to do it now, so there's no sense in waiting any longer. If Richie could confront and tell off Francis, and begin the healing process, then so could Virgil.

Even if he is absolutely terrified of what his dad will say, and how disappointed he'll be.

"My phone is in my left pocket," Virgil says. "Will you text Shay for me? Tell him to come to my dad's place…" If he is going to tell his dad, he might as well tell everyone it'll affect. "And text my sister, too." Including Sharon, to who he swore on Jean's grave he quit cutting. "Tell her to bring Adam."

"Are you sure?" Richie asks, reaching in Virgil's pocket for the phone. As much as he wants Virgil to tell someone who can do something to help him, the last thing he wants him to do is stress himself out with a large group of people. "You sure you don't want to just tell your dad first? That might be easier."

Virgil shakes his head. "No," he says and looks up at Richie. "It's easier to tell everyone at once, so I don't have to say it a bunch of times." With a soft sigh, he lets go of Richie's hand and turns, wrapping him in a hug, stopping them both in their tracks. "I'm scared," he says, whispering against Richie's ear.

"I know, V," Richie says just as softly. He returns the hug and rests his chin on Virgil's shoulder. "But it'll be okay, I'm sure. Your family loves you; they might be disappointed, and even mad or upset, but they'll help you. I promise."

The words sting because Virgil knows full well his family loves him, and only want what's best for him, and they want to see him happy and healthy in every aspect of the phrase. The words sting because he knows full well Richie's family wouldn't care; knows full well they wouldn't help him get through what he's been through, and it's why Virgil so badly wants Richie to talk to his dad, because he knows he needs someone.

Virgil shakes his head free of his thoughts before Richie adds: "I'll be there. You don't have to talk to them alone."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Mention of self-harm, mention of rape, mention of abuse, mention of homelessness, homosexuality.

When Virgil and Richie got to Robert's house, Virgil let out a sigh, noticing that everyone he wanted to be there was there. Standing right outside the door, Virgil turns to Richie and bites his lip, furrowing his eyebrows. No matter how badly he wants to confess to the last four years, he's still scared; he's still terrified about how everyone is going to react.

"I promised my sister I quit," Virgil says, leaning his back against the door. His head hits the wood with the lightest of thuds—he doesn't want anyone to know he's arrived just yet. "I swore to her I quit. She's going to be pissed."

Richie shrugs lightly and stands next to Virgil. "Probably," he says gently. He bites his bottom lip when Virgil turns his head and gives him a horrified look. Richie sighs gently. "So maybe she'll get mad at first, but she'll cool off and you'll talk about it, and things will be fine." He pauses for a moment, draws in a deep breath, and sighs as he says, "I'm sure of it."

"They're going to wonder who you are."

Richie shrugs. "We'll have a proper meeting later, Virgil. Right now is about you telling them what you need to." Gently, he grabs and strokes Virgil's fabric covered arm. They make eye contact a few moments later. They both smile.

**-SS-**

"Just tell them, Virgil," Richie says, standing in his spot on the other side of the room. His arms across and he's up against the wall. Virgil turns to look at him, biting his lip. "They'll still love you. I promise."

Letting out a sigh, Virgil nods and turns back toward his family and Shay. Clearing his throat, he nods, mostly to himself, and beings to talk, however broken and cracking his voice may be. He can tell there's concern in every single person looking at him, and he needs to say something soon before they start to assume the worst.

Although cutting and lying is pretty bad.

"Um..." Virgil clears his throat again. He is holding his left arm to his chest securely with his right. "I, um... I need to tell you guys something," he begins. He squeezes his eyes shut because, honestly, it's easier than seeing everyone's looks of concern and, soon, their disappointment. "I've been cutting this whole time." Pausing, he pulls up his both his sleeves as far as he can to show everyone how mangled his arms are, along with the gauze wrapping his left one. "I mean, I quit for about six months, but I started as soon as I knew you guys wouldn't notice." Letting out a breath, he opens his eyes and tears begin to sting his cheeks as he watches everyone stare at him, confusion and other emotions flickering across their faces. At this point, he has no idea what they think, so he keeps talking. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I lied to you guys. I'm sorry I never quit... and... I'm sorry that I'm just now telling you, after four years." He looks back down, staring at his arm as he holds it to his chest, suddenly overcome with extreme disgust. His skin is so wrinkled from cutting, and he hates.

There are about fifteen minutes of silence in which everyone is trying to process this new information. Virgil keeps his head down, because the last thing he wants, or knows he should do, is make eye contact. He waits patiently for everyone to say what they want or need to say, knowing full well it could range from acceptance to hatred and yelling. He's prepared for it all.

Except what Shay has to say.

"So, wait," Shay finally says as he furrows his eyebrows, "Richie knows about this?"

Virgil just nods.

Shay narrows his eyes in complete and utter confusion. "So you mean to tell me that, after fifteen years of friendship, you trust Richie, who you've known for two weeks, more than me?" He gives a disgusted laugh as he stands, approaching Virgil. He makes his 'best friend' look at him by grabbing his jaw. The sight puts Richie on edge, especially remembering what happened with Francis mere hours before. "Well, I'm glad to know that you don't need me anymore, so I hope you have fun Richie." He lets go of Virgil's jaw and shoves him to the side, walking past him. "I'm out."

Looking over his shoulder, Virgil bites his lip as he holds back tears, watching Shay leave. Although he expected him to be mad, he hadn't expected him to leave; he hadn't expected to lose his best friend over this. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he turns his head and opens his eyes once more to look at his dad, Sharon, and Adam.

Especially Sharon.

"What?" Sharon hisses. She sits forward as far as she can, crossing her arms over the top of her stomach. "I'm not any happier than Shay. You fucking promised you quit. You swore on mom's grave that you quit cutting. You lied to me and mom about quitting, so don't look at me like I'm going to be any happier than Shay is. You're just lucky I can't walk out on being your sister, otherwise I would." Shaking her head, she pinches the side of her head and finally decides to stand. She elbows Adam to help her up, and once she's standing, she approaches Virgil. "I don't hate you, Virgil, but I am incredibly pissed. You fucking promised me. You swore to _me_ and _mom_ that you quit."

Virgil makes eye contact with Sharon and talks through tears. "I tried, Sharon. I really tried." He sniffs loudly and presses his hand to his mouth, clearing his throat. "I know I swore I quit, and I really tried to not do it again, but everything got so stressful, and I didn't know what else to do."

"You could have talked to someone, Virgil; there are so many people who are willing to talk to you any minute of the day, if you would've just asked." Sharon lets out a loud, annoyed sigh through her nose and shakes her head. "We'll talk about this later. Right now, looking at you isn't healthy for my baby." She glances over her shoulder at her husband. "Come on, Adam."

On their way out, Adam stops beside Virgil momentarily to give him a hug. "I'm proud of you for finally saying something," he says.

"You're not disappointed?" Virgil asks, leaning into the hug.

"No, I am," Adam says with a shrug and a shake of his head, "I just don't think you need to hear any more of it." He gives Virgil one more squeeze before letting go. He hurries out the front door when he hears his wife shouting his name.

That only left Robert.

With a soft, shaky sigh, Virgil crosses the room to the couch where he sits down next to Robert. He looks down at his hands as he picks his nail bed. He clears his throat and waits for his dad to say something first, because judging by his expression, he has no idea what his dad thinks of the news.

"I guess..." Robert begins, but trails off. Pinching the bridge of his nose, his glasses raise and he squeezes his eyes closed. He shakes head and sighs, letting his glasses fall back down. "I guess I should have been more on top of making sure you were okay," he says, turning to face his son. Virgil looks up at him. "I'm not mad at you, Virgil; I'm disappointed in myself for just assuming you hadn't relapsed. I should've... talked to you more about it, or checked up on you. Anything." He shakes his head.

Virgil shakes his head, finding his father's response to the situation the most heartbreaking of all. Nothing hurt worse than having his dad blame himself for this.

"Where did you get... tools?" Robert asks, scrunching his nose as if the words were poison. It was a common phrase for what individuals used for self-harm, but it didn't change the fact it felt strange for him to say. "I'm pretty sure I never saw you with any..."

Virgil gestures toward Richie. "I took stainless steel scraps from his inventions." He shrugs. "I was sure if I tried buying razors, you would have caught on, and so I went a different route." Virgil pauses and furrows his eyebrows, glancing briefly at Richie. "It's not his fault, though; he had no idea I was taking those scraps."

Robert looks up at Richie. "How long have you known about this?"

"Um..." Richie bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably. He hates being put on the spot, especially when feels like something is going to end up being his fault. It reminds him way too much of when his dad would single him out. "I, uh... I've only known for, like, two weeks." He scratches the back of his neck. "I only know because Virgil was trying to get me to trust him."

Robert furrows his eyebrows. "Trust him?"

"Um..." Richie nods and bites his lip. "I'm, uh—or I guess was—uh, homeless."

For a few moments Robert is quiet. He is looking between Virgil and Richie, furrowing his eyebrows a little tighter each time he looks back at Virgil. Finally, he sighs and relaxes his features and pats the side of the couch Virgil isn't sitting on, inviting Richie to sit down.

"Why don't you two tell me exactly what's going on, okay?"

Glancing at Virgil, who smiles, Richie makes his way to the couch and sits down next to Robert. Over the course of the next three hours, Richie explains everything about his past starting at Kindergarten, when the abuse from his father really started. He explains how he decided he would run away from home after telling his dad he's gay, and how it resulted in him having a broken leg. He explains running away from home, and trusting Francis—or Hotstreak as Robert would probably more likely know him—and only ending up hurt; he explains that Francis raped him, that Francis' buddies raped him. He explains getting an invitation to Virgil's birthday party, and feeling afraid of being there, and so he ran. Finally it gets to why Virgil showed Richie his scars. He also throws in the part about confronting Francis, and how good it felt to get everything off his chest, and how he promised Virgil he would talk to Robert about getting help. It's at that point Richie mentions he and Virgil are dating.

"So you two are dating?" Robert reiterates.

Virgil and Richie both nod.

"How long?"

Virgil shrugs. "About a week. He's been living with me since my birthday, though."

Robert just nods, turning his attention to Richie. "Are you really looking to get some help, Richie?"

Richie nods.

"I'll see what I can do for you, okay?"

Richie smiles. "That would be…" He sighs. "That'd be great, Mr. Hawkins."

"Call me Robert," he says, smiling, as he turns his attention to Virgil. 'Mr. Hawkins' was starting to make Robert feel far too old. "Tell me why you relapsed, Virgil. What started it?"

After getting his powers, Virgil quit cutting because he finally had something else to focus his time and energy on; he finally felt he was worth something and he didn't need it anymore. After about four months, though, Virgil started to feel stressed by superheroing, school, friends, and a budding relationship with Shay. At that time, though, he was still under surveillance so he couldn't start again. As soon as his family and Shay quit hawk-eyeing him, he started because he was so stressed. It escalated quickly, and it became what his dad now saw on his arms.

When Virgil and Richie are both done talking, Robert nods and sits back. For a few moments, he processes the information, his head lolled back and his eyes closed. He's considering what to do for the both of them; for Virgil it's easy—get him back to his therapist—but for Richie it's a little more difficult, but he knows he can find something to help him at the community center.

After about ten minutes, Robert finally sits back up, opens his eyes, and smiles. It creates confusion in the eyes of both Virgil and Richie, because that reaction is by far the last one they expected.

"Virgil, I'll get you an appointment with your therapist," Robert says. He shifts and smiles at Richie. "Richie, I want you to come to the community center—Virgil will show you were it is, if you don't already know. We can look into getting you some free counseling, and plan out the best way of getting you back into school, okay?" He looks between Virgil and Richie.

Virgil and Richie both nod.

"Uh, but..." Virgil furrows his eyebrows. "You're not disappointed?"

"Well, I'm upset, that's for sure," Robert admits. "I wish you would have told me sooner, but..." He shrugs. "It is what it is, and I plan to get you both some help." He glances at Richie, then back at Virgil and says, "Just do not ever keep a relapse from me again, especially not for this long. Do you understand me?"

Virgil nods. "Yes, sir."

"Very well, then," Robert says with a nod. "I'll help you, both of you. If you want this relationship to flourish, you're going to need some help, and Richie's going to need to be able to get a job."

With a smile, Virgil scoots closer to his dad and hugs him. Robert wraps his left arm around Virgil's back, pulling him close, and uses his right arm to grab Richie, pulling him into the hug as well. It doesn't take long for Richie to relax, enjoying the strong hug of a fatherly figure; of someone who cares. Aside from Virgil, this is by far the best hug he has ever had, except for from his mother.

Richie sighs as he closes his eyes, just enjoying the hug. He tries his best to not think about the fact he sometimes wishes he could see his mother again, or the fact he regrets running away and leaving her behind. He knows his mother always meant well, but he couldn't live with his father anymore. The thoughts almost become too much until Robert says something that distracts Richie from them, making him smile and relax even more so.

"I love you," Robert says, "both of you."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**A/N: **Okay, you guys, I am SO SO SO SO SO freaking sorry that this chapter took so damn fucking long for me to get written and posted. Everything in the past (what is it? two weeks?) got extremely freaking chaotic, and I had to put this on hold (not to mention I got another idea for a fanfiction and started that-sorry). However, here is the last chapter. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING THIS STORY. I SERIOUSLY APPRECIATE IT, LIKE OH MY GOD. Thank you. Thank you so much. I really hope you like this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Static Shock  
**Summary:** AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.  
**Warnings:** Mention of self-harm, mention of homelessness, implied abuse, homosexuality.

Richie is off at the gas station today, proclaiming that he needs to continue with some invention he's been working on for years, leaving Virgil to his lonesome at the apartment. He would have gone with Richie to just sit around while he invited, but with three papers due over the next two days, sitting around the gas station is the very last thing Virgil needs to do with his time.

As a matter-of-fact, what Virgil really needs to be doing with his time is not procrastinating. Instead of doing his papers, Virgil is on the computer roaming the internet. He has checked several social networking sites more times than he can count, only to find that none of them have any updates worth looking at—come play this game; so-and-so did this today; so-and-so is up to this today, but nothing worth giving his time or energy to.

Sighing, Virgil glances at the clock in the corner of the screen and immediately groans. It's nearly 4:30, and one of the papers, of which Virgil hasn't even started, is due at midnight. It's supposed to be a five page paper about a topic hasn't even chosen yet, and time is ticking, and the longer Virgil delays the paper, the more stressed out he becomes, but the last thing he wants to be doing is writing.

At 6:00, Richie still hasn't returned and the paper still hasn't been written. Biting his lip, Virgil puts the computer down on the couch beside him and sighs. Absent-mindedly, he begins to scratch one of his heeling scars, unaware of anything except for the fact that it's making him feel better to cause the pain. He doesn't even fully realize what he's doing.

His first therapy session isn't scheduled for another week, so in the meantime, he's coping any way he can.

Suddenly, Virgil is looking down at his arm in horror. He's accidentally picked off the scab forming over his scar and its begun bleeding again.

_Shit._

With a soft groan, Virgil gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom. Halfway there, he's distracted by the doorbell. Momentarily, he looks between his arm and the door, debating which to take care of first—on the one hand, he knows he should take care of the bleeding wound first, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to keep whoever is at the door waiting. It only takes him a moment more to decide to pull his sleeve down and found out who is at the door.

Much to his horror—and he goes wide-eyed while taking a step back—he is standing directly in front of both Shay and Sharon. While he expected Sharon would eventually come around and talk to him, he hadn't expected Shay would ever come back, and he certainly hadn't expected he would come back at the same time as Sharon.

Then Virgil realizes his arm is still bleeding and he gasps softly, putting his arm behind his back. He grabs the part that's bleeding and squeezes in an attempt to stop it. Although he knows he needs it to be above his heart, this is just going to have to do for now.

"What are you guys doing here?" Virgil asks. There's an extremely noticeable tremble in his tone. Squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, he takes in a deep breath to soothe his anxiety. After a moment, he opens his eyes again. "What do you want?"

Without saying anything, Sharon walks into the apartment and takes Virgil's arm into his hands. Before she even raises his sleeve, she sees the blood staining it. Taking in a soft, slow breath, she raises his sleeve to see the bleeding scar and the mess of blood across his arm. She is vaguely aware of how terrified Virgil is because she can see how badly he's shaking just from looking at his arm.

"Virgil," Sharon says softly, looking up at her brother, "I'm not going to get mad you—neither of us will. It's okay."

"I didn't cut—I haven't since I told you guys last week," Virgil says, his voice a lot more teary than he meant for it to be. He squeezes his eyes shut before any tears have a chance to fall down his cheeks. "I was scratching a scab and it came off and it started bleeding again." He inhales sharply, sniffing. "I was gonna go clean it when you guys showed up."

Shay laughs airily through his nose. The sound gets Virgil's attention—he would know that laugh anywhere. "I know that feeling," he says and grins. "Scabs are pretty fucking itchy."

Virgil narrows his eyes at Shay suspiciously. "Wait, you believe me?" He furrows his eyebrows, relaxing his eyes. "I thought… I thought…" He shakes his head, confusion furrowing his eyebrows even more. "I… I don't understand? Why do you believe me?"

"I have no reason to not believe you, Virg," Shay says, taking a step forward. He kicks the door closed with his foot. Within a moment, he's about as close to Virgil as Sharon is. "You were honest about cutting, so, I…" He sighs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like I did; it was a dick thing to do."

Gently yanking his arm from Sharon, Virgil gently presses his arm right above his heart—the shirt is already bloodstained as it is, so more won't hurt it—to stop the bleeding. Sharon takes a step back and sits down at the kitchen table. Virgil and Shay join her a moment later.

"Why _did_ you leave like that?"

Shay takes in a deep breath and sighs. "Honestly?" he asks, and Virgil nods. "I was jealous. I wasn't mad you lied to me for four years, because I understand you were scared to tell anyone about your relapse… I was mad because I was jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Of Richie."

Virgil blinks, confused. "Why?"

Shay shrugs and sinks into his seat, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "I…" He sighs. If Virgil could be honest about cutting, he could be honest about this. "I… still love you, Virgil." He looks down at his lap when Virgil immediately goes wide-eyed. "I always kind of hoped we would get back together, but then… but then Richie came along, and I… I knew I didn't have a chance anymore; I knew you were love-struck, and I got jealous." He sighs again. "Then you said you told Richie about your relapse, and… and I thought I was being replaced…"

For a few moments, Virgil simply stares at Shay in shock. He tries a few times to open his mouth to say something, but each nothing but a strangled noise comes out. In all honesty, he has no idea what to say to this; he had no idea Shay even still had feeling for him. He wants to say something supportive; wants to say that it's okay, but that doesn't seem good enough, and it's not like Virgil has any intention of getting back with Shay—he no longer has those kinds of feelings for his best friend.

"I…" Virgil furrows his eyebrows. "Shay, I don't know what to say."

Shay shrugs.

Getting up from his spot, Virgil moves a chair over so he's sitting next to Shay. With his free arm, he wraps Shay in a hug and pulls him to his chest. Shay wraps both his arms around Virgil's back and holds him a close as he can, despite Virgil's arm being between them.

"Shay," Virgil begins, "I… you're my best friend, and I'm always going to love you, and there is nothing I can ever do to replace you. Yeah, I love Richie, and I'm so glad to have him, but… I would be so lost without you, Shay. You have helped me through so much in the last fifteen years, and I don't know what I would do without you."

At first Shay doesn't respond because he's trying to take in everything Virgil has just said. Sure, it's going to take a while to get over how he really feels about him, but it's at least nice to know Virgil still wants Shay in his life. Not that Shay should have expected otherwise, because they're far too close for anything to really ever come between them.

"I get to be your best man," Shay says. He may be upset, and this may be something to get over, but the least he can do is lighten the situation by cracking a joke. "You better not ask anyone else but me, or I'll throw water on you."

Virgil snorts. "Trust me, Shay," he says and breaks the hug, "I was never going to ask anyone else. You will be the best man at my wedding, whenever the hell that may be."

"Man, fuck it; I'm gonna be best man for both of you."

Virgil snorts again, but this time ends up laughing. "Run that by Richie."

Shay shakes his head, his eyes closed. He opens them again and says, "Nope. He doesn't have a choice. He and I are best friends now and he has no choice in the matter." He pauses and blinks, narrowing his eyes as he leans in. "You don't think he'll mind that, do you?" he asks as a whisper.

"No," Virgil says, throwing his head back laughing, "I don't think he'll mind that at all." It is probably one of the better things Richie isn't being given a choice in doing, goes through Virgil's mind, and he cringes. He can't honestly believe he thought that. "I'm sure he won't mind."

"Good."

For a few minutes, there's a silence. Everyone stays pretty well within their thoughts. That is, everyone stays within their own thoughts until Sharon decides it's her turn to talk. Clearing her throat, she gets Virgil's attention. They're face-to-face as Sharon talks.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I didn't mean to bring mom into it, or my babies. I was just mad at you, because you never told me. I thought you would have, but I guess I was wrong."

Virgil furrows his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip. "I wanted to, Sharon," he says, his voice soft. "Trust me, I really did. I wanted to get help, but I was so scared and felt so guilty. Every time I thought about tell you and Pops, I would get more stressed out to the point I would cut again, and it turned into this vicious cycle I couldn't get out of. Eventually, I just decided it was easier to not say anything."

"Yeah, but now your arms look like a wrinkly old man's."

"I know."

Sharon sighs. "You promise you didn't cut?" she asks, gesturing toward his arm. "You absolutely promise you did not cut?"

Virgil looks Sharon straight in the eye as he answers her. "I promise, Sharon. I promise you I did not cut. I promise I was just scratching a scab. I may have been doing it because I was anxious, because I have papers due, but I didn't cut." He sniffs and looks down at his arm, watching blood seep through fabric into more fabric. "I promise."

With a nod, Sharon gives a soft smile as she stands up. Holding out her hand, she helps Virgil up. "Come on, she says, beginning to escort him to the bathroom, let's get you cleaned up."

They're halfway to the bathroom when they're disrupted by the door opening. Virgil, Sharon, and Shay all three turn to see Richie and Adam coming in. They look as though they have been laughing about something, because they both have the same twinkle of happiness in their eyes.

Virgil furrows his eyebrows but grins at the sight—he loves seeing Richie happy. "What are you two smiling about?" he asks teasingly.

"I just realized Adam is the one that gave me that free haircut a couple weeks ago," Richie says, gesturing his thumb at Virgil's brother-in-law. "I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint where until I saw him in the hall just now. He reminded me how I knew him."

Sharon looks up halfway through Richie talking. When he's done, she gives her attention to Adam. "You gave Richie a free haircut?" she asks, grinning, because part of her is insanely proud her husband would do something like that.

Adam shrugs. "I knew he was homeless. He's the one I gave fifty dollars to, too; it's how I knew he was homeless." He shrugs again.

Leaving Virgil's side, Sharon goes over to Adam and pulls him into a hug. He returns it by wrapping her arms around his back, stretching them so he can clasp his hands around her back. He does it so as to make Sharon feel good about herself—there were times at the beginning of her pregnancy she complained about being fat and Adam would always retort with: 'No, you're not. See? I can get my arms around you!' It may be ridiculous, but it makes Sharon smile, and that's all that matters.

Richie moves to stand beside Virgil. "You're bleeding," he says nonchalantly.

"I scratched a scab."

"Ah," Richie says with a nod. "Well, come on, I'll clean it for you. Sharon seems to be occupied," he says and gestures to the couple kissing in Virgil's kitchen.

Virgil wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Yeah, let's go," he says and glances at Shay. "Come on, Shay, you can tell Richie all about how you guys are best friends now."

Richie raises an eyebrow, glancing at Shay, as the three of them make their way to the bathroom. "What is this now?" he asks, laughing softly.

"Yep!" Shay says, grinning. "We're best friends. I hope you don't mind. Oh, and I'm going to be your best man when you and Virgil get married."

"Married?"

"Oh yeah, you're getting married," Shay says as he sits down on the toilet. Virgil sits down on the counter and Richie stands in front of him. "There's not even a debate about that. Virgil loves you way too much to ever let you go, and you love him."

Richie grins as he begins to clean Virgil's arm. "Well, you're right," he says, glancing quickly at Shay. He looks up at Virgil and smiles. "I do love him."

Virgil smiles back. "I love you, too."

The sting of the Hydrogen Peroxide makes Virgil hiss and Richie apologizes for not warning him. Shay simply laughs, finding the scene oddly domestic and rather cute, which he announces when Richie is done pouring Hydrogen Peroxide on Virgil's arm.


End file.
